LIf:  RARY  ^ 

UN.'V^-StTY  OF 
CALIf-OfT^IA 
SAN  DIE«0 


Ml 
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THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 


BY 
DeWITT  H.  PARKER 

ASSISTANT  PROFESSOR  OF  PHILOSOPHY  IN  THE 
UNIVERSITY  OF  MICHIGAN 


II!J¥'IIIlEPlIl) 


CAMBRIDGE 
HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

LONDON:    HUMPHREY  MILFORD 
Oxford  Untversity  Press 

1917 


^^-^-- 


I B  R A  RY 
SCRIP  P"^    INSTITUTION 

OF  OCE^rvOGRAPHY 

UNIVERSITY  Cs/c  A  LI  FORNI A 

LA  JOLLA./CAtTFORNlA 


^7 


COPYRIGHT,  1917 
HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 


TO 
MY  MOTHER 


eiOLOGiCAL    RESEARCH 


FOREWORD 

THE  task  of  metaphysics,  as  I  conceive  it,  is  twofold. 
Accepting  experience  as  a  fragment  of  reality  which  is 
unimpeachably  given  to  us,  metaphysics  undertakes  first,  to 
analyze  and  describe  its  omnipresent  aspects  and  funda- 
mental structure:  its  relation  to  the  self,  to  the  body,  to 
nature,  to  knowledge;  its  changefulness;  its  spatiality;  the 
spontaneity  and  causal  determination  of  its  elements;  its 
relatedness.  This  is  the  more  certain  part  of  the  study, 
where  truth  will  reward  any  one  who  examines  attentively 
and  without  prejudice,  and  who  constructs  with  skill  and 
fidelity  the  concepts  which  he  uses  to  describe  what  he  finds. 
But  metaphysics  has  a  second,  a  synthetic  task:  to  project 
a  total  vision  of  the  world.  By  following  along  the  lines  of 
the  outward  going  relations  of  given  experience,  the  philos- 
opher seeks  to  discover  the  whole  of  which  it  is  a  part.  As 
necessary  materials  for  this  purpose,  he  has  to  use  the  larger 
facts  and  broader  generalizations  of  science,  interpreting 
them,  however,  in  the  light  of  his  analysis  of  experience. 
Hence,  despite  this  dependence,  metaphysics  differs  funda- 
mentally from  science  in  being  radically  empirical  and  criti- 
cal, and  in  passing  from  the  part  to  the  whole.  This  is  the 
less  certain  portion  of  the  study,  because  it  requires  a  freer 
use  of  hypothesis;  yet  the  extension  of  experience  which  it 
demands  is  no  different  in  kind  or  certainty,  I  believe,  from 


VI  FOREWORD 

that  involved  in  any  special  science  where  the  facts  are  not 
all  open  to  inspection. 

The  method  of  metaphysics  is,  therefore,  radical  empiri- 
cism extended  through  the  imagination.  The  source  of  all 
of  our  knowledge  of  reahty  is  given  experience  —  without 
a  careful  analysis  of  this,  there  can  be  no  sound  metaphysics. 
There  are,  however,  within  given  experience  itself  motives 
for  going  beyond  it,  and  for  this,  the  use  of  the  imagination 
is  not  only  legitimate,  but  necessary.  Yet  the  meaning  and 
value  of  every  concept  employed  either  in  the  description  of 
given  experience  or  in  its  imaginative  extension  is  Uterally 
equivalent  to  the  images  and  concrete  experiences  from 
which  it  has  been  derived  or  into  which  it  might  lead. 

In  the  present  work  I  aim  to  study  in  a  direct  and  simple 
fashion  the  great  problems  of  metaphysical  philosophy  so 
conceived.  Each  of  these  problems  receives  independent 
treatment  in  a  separate  chapter,  yet  the  work  is,  I  believe,  a 
consistent  and  fairly  complete  whole.  The  doctrine  of  the 
nature  and  unity  of  mind  expounded  in  the  early  chapters, 
as  the  reader  will  discover,  determines  the  point  of  view  of 
the  entire  book. 

Anybody  familiar  with  the  history  and  recent  literature 
of  philosophy  will  recognize  how  large  a  debt  I  owe  both  to 
the  living  and  the  dead.  For  the  sake  of  simplicity  and  con- 
tinuity of  writing  I  have  not  made  all  the  acknowledgments 
which  I  might  have  made  in  the  body  of  my  text.  I  wish 
therefore  to  make  my  chief  acknowledgments  here  at  the 
outset.  Although  I  do  not  think  that  I  am  in  total  agree- 
ment with  him  anywhere,  I  am  throughout  indebted  to 


FOREWORD  VU 

James  for  the  radically  empirical,  dramatic  conception  of 
the  universe  which  I  accept.  In  the  early  chapters  my 
inspiration  for  the  view  that  sensations  are  a  real  part  of  the 
system  of  the  physical  world  has  been  drawn  chiefly  from 
Berkeley  and  Mach  and  Bergson ;  in  the  chapter  on  Causal- 
ity, for  the  derivation  of  law  from  spontaneity,  I  am  directly 
dependent  on  Charles  Peirce;  my  emotional  and  moral 
attitude  towards  nature,  as  expressed  in  the  Conclusion,  if 
not  the  same  as  Santayana's,  is  at  least,  I  feel  sure,  colored 
by  the  Life  of  Reason  and  the  personal  teaching  of  its 
author.  Although  disagreeing  with  them  on  many  topics, 
I  am  deeply  indebted  to  my  teachers  Royce  and  Perry, 
and  to  Russell  and  Bradley  and  Ward  for  my  method  of 
approach  at  several  points  and  for  abundant  suggestions. 
Finally,  to  my  colleague  and  chief,  Wenley,  I  owe  much 
for  inspiration  and  encouragement  during  the  writing  of  the 
book. 

Despite  all  these  acknowledgments,  a  large  part  of  my 
work  is,  I  believe,  original.  There  is  something  especially 
new,  I  think,  in  my  treatment  of  personal  identity  and  the 
relation  of  the  self  to  nature.  The  work  is,  at  all  events,  a 
first-hand  attempt  to  think  through  the  great  problems  of 
philosophy.  It  has  been  for  me  a  personal,  an  unavoidable 
quest,  an  intellectual  adventure,  upon  which  I  now  invite 
the  reader  to  follow  me. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  The  Self  and  the  Mind 3 

II.  Personal  Identity 28 

III.  The  Metaphysics  of  Perception 53 

IV.  The  Relation  between  Mind  and  Body 72 

V.  Time 96 

VI.   Causality 129 

VII.   Space i57 

VIII.  The  Nature  of  Knowledge  and  the  Metaphysical 

Status  of  Untversals 176 

IX.  The  Theory  of  Relations 212 

X.  The  Unity  of  Minds 274 

XI.   Conclusion 299 


THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  SELF  AND  THE  MIND 

IN  the  intellectual  adventure  which  lies  before  us  we 
might  start  anywhere;  but  let  us  begin  at  the  point 
nearest,  —  with  ourselves. 

What  is  the  self  ?  Which  of  all  the  many  things  which  I 
can  find  or  know  can  I  identify  as  myself  ? 

I  certainly  am  not,  for  example,  this  gray  and  shape  of 
table,  this  color  and  odor  of  fruit,  this  sound  of  typewriter. 
I  am,  to  be  sure,  very  intimately  bound  up  in  some  way 
with  these  things;  they  are  very  close  to  me;  yet  they  are 
not  me.  On  the  other  hand,  among  the  things  which  I  can 
find,  there  are  some  which  seem  to  be  unquestionably  a  part 
of  me:  my  interest  in  this  search,  the  pleasure  in  the  search 
as  I  proceed  with  it,  the  various  thoughts  and  opinions 
which  I  find  and  somehow  own  or  hold  with  reference  to  it. 
If,  at  the  moment,  I  were  to  suppose  these  things  not  to 
exist,  I  should  be  at  a  loss  to  find  anything  left  of  myself. 
And  when  I  look  back  over  my  past  and  ask  myself  what  I 
have  meant  to  myself,  I  find  that  I  have  always  meant 
certain  instincts,  purposes,  choices;  certain  satisfactions 
and  dissatisfactions;  and  certain  opinions,  thoughts,  mem- 
ories.   Let  us  call  all  these  things  activities. 

We  cannot  doubt  that  the  activities  are  an  essential  part 
of  the  self;  but  are  they  the  whole  self  ?  For  there  are 
certain  things  which  I  stumble  upon  when  I  search  for  the 


4  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

self  about  which  the  question  may  fairly  be  raised  whether 
they  belong  to  the  self  or  not.  They  are  often  attributed 
to  it.  They  are  such  things  as  strains  in  the  joints  and 
muscles  when  I  move,  beatings  of  heart  and  shivering  when 
I  am  afraid,  tensions  in  the  forehead  and  neck  when  I 
think  —  in  fact  all  that  part  of  existence  which  I  call  my 
body,  especially  when  my  activities  have  results  there. 
Another  set  of  things  which  seem  to  be  myself  are  my 
images.  These,  too,  accompany  most,  if  not  all,  of  my 
activities.  My  strivings  are  always  inwrought  with  strains; 
my  desires  are  always  hugging  some  image  of  shape  and 
color;  my  pleasures  and  pains  are  penetrated  with  organic 
pressures  and  touches;  my  thoughts  and  memories  are 
constantly  interwoven  with  pictures  of  their  objects.  And 
this  intimate  relation  of  all  these  doubtful  things  to  the 
activities  is,  I  think,  the  ground  of  our  identification  of 
them  with  the  self.  In  themselves,  they  do  not  belong  to 
the  self;  but  because  of  their  inseparable  connection  with  it, 
they  are  effectively  a  part  of  it. 

The  result  of  our  search  for  the  self  was  the  discovery  of 
the  activities.  Besides  these,  we  came  upon  certain  things 
which  are  so  closely  knit  into  the  activities  that  the  latter 
never  exist  separate  from  them.  Hence  they,  too,  while 
strictly  not  the  self,  may  nevertheless  be  called  by  its  name. 
Then  there  were  the  other  things  which  we  found  in  our 
search,  colors  and  shapes  and  sounds,  with  which  the  self  is 
never  confused  because  never  in  so  intimate  a  connection. 
But  even  they,  although  separable,  are  nevertheless  bound 
tight  to  it.    The  mere  fact  that  I  could  find  them  is  evidence 


THE  SELF  AND  THE  MIND  5 

of  this  tie.  I  find  myself  connected  with  all  found  things  in 
a  way  which  does  not  exist  between  me  and  things  which  I 
do  not  find.  I  find,  of  course,  thoughts  of  these  latter 
things,  a  thought  of  my  reader  and  of  New  York,  for 
example;  but  what  these  thoughts  mean,  the  things  them- 
selves, I  do  not  find.  The  things  which  I  both  mean  and 
can  find  —  the  blue  of  sky  and  sound  of  typewriter,  for 
example  —  are  all  in  contact  with  one  another  and  with 
the  self,  with  the  thought  that  means  and  the  pleasure 
that  is  taken  in  them:  but  between  the  things  which  I 
mean  and  cannot  now  find  and  those  which  I  do  find  there 
is  no  such  contact.  The  blue  of  sky  and  as  much  of  the 
typewriter  as  I  see  make  a  whole  with  my  feelings  and 
desires  from  which  the  part  of  the  typewriter  which  I  do  not 
see  and  my  reader  and  London  are  excluded.  There  is,  of 
course,  a  connection  between  what  I  see  of  the  typewriter 
and  what  I  do  not  see;  but  this  connection  is  not  itself  seen. 
There  is,  therefore,  a  contact  of  the  self  with  things  which 
are  no  part  of  it ;  with  these  it  makes  a  whole  from  which  all 
things  which  it  cannot  at  the  moment  find  are  excluded. 
Let  us  call  this  whole  of  things  findable  a  mind  or  conscious- 
ness. This  whole  is  often  called  a  self,  but  improperly;  for 
the  self,  as  we  have  seen,  is  only  one  part  of  it.  Let  us  call 
everything  in  such  a  whole  which  is  not  self,  content.  Since 
the  relation  between  the  two  parts  of  the  mind  is  so  inti- 
mate, it  is  not  surprising  that  the  distinction  between  them 
has  not  always  been  recognized.  I  never  find  myself  without 
some  contact  with  content,  and,  since  I  cannot  find  anything 
without  coming  into  contact  with  it  and  so  making  a  whole 


6  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

out  of  it  and  myself,  I  never  can  find  any  content  separate 
from  the  self. 

The  account  of  the  self  which  we  have  given  may  be 
deemed  inadequate  for  several  reasons. 

First,  one  may  object  that  we  have  described  the  "  me," 
the  objective  self,  not  the  "  I  "  or  true  subject.  Our  sup- 
position that  we  could  find  the  self  at  all  may  be  declared 
false.  How,  it  is  often  said,  can  I  find  myself;  how  can  the 
subject  become  its  own  object?  And  if  somehow  the  subject 
can  become  its  own  object  and  so  be  found  by  itself,  perhaps 
its  mode  of  discovery  and  of  knowledge  must  be  different 
from  the  mode  of  discovery  and  of  knowledge  of  other 
things;  it  may  be  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  we  can  search 
for  the  self,  as  we  have  done,  just  as  we  should  search  for 
other  things. 

The  basis  of  this  objection  is,  I  believe,  a  false  doctrine  of 
the  unity  of  the  self,  an  exaggeration  of  that  unity.  In  find- 
ing the  self,  the  finding  act  is  not,  to  be  sure,  itself  found; 
yet  every  other  part  of  the  self  is  found.  At  any  moment  the 
self  is  a  whole  complexity  of  interwoven  acts;  yet  there  is 
sufficient  independence  among  them  to  permit  of  the  direc- 
tion of  one  upon  another.  In  other  words,  a  part  of  the  self 
discovers  the  rest.  And  this  discovery  does  not  involve,  as 
is  often  supposed,  that  the  part  discovered  be  a  merely 
remembered  self;  for  the  act  of  discovery  may  be  contem- 
poraneous with  the  acts  discovered.  At  the  moment  of  dis- 
covery I  am  at  once  the  act  of  discovery  and  the  other  acts. 
This  is  undoubtedly  a  difficult  situation,  as  every  psycholo- 
gist knows,  and  is  the  source  of  all  the  uncertainties  in  the 


THE  SELF  AND  THE  MIND  7 

theory  of  the  self.  A  content  is  easy  to  find;  not  so  an 
activity;  for  the  diremption  of  the  self,  the  setting  of  one 
activity  over  against  another  involves,  since  the  self  tends 
towards  integration,  the  unclearness  of  one  of  the  acts: 
either  the  introspected  act  becomes  indistinct,  or  else  the 
attitude  of  introspection  becomes  unsteady  and  is  relaxed. 
Yet  this  difficulty  is  not  insurmountable  and  we  do  actually 
find  our  activities. 

The  objection  may  still  be  pressed  that  we  have  admitted 
the  main  contention  of  the  objector;  for  we  have  provided 
for  no  finding  of  the  finding  activity  itself.  Does  not  this, 
the  pure  subject,  remain  the  constant  accompaniment  of 
all  our  activities,  forever  undiscoverable  by  the  ordinary 
means  ?  Well,  as  we  have  asserted,  a  given  act  of  finding 
does  not  and  cannot  find  itself;  yet  it  can  be  found  —  by 
another  act  of  finding.  Of  course  there  will  always  be  one 
act  of  finding  which  is  not  found ;  otherwise  there  would  be 
an  infinite  complexity  in  the  self,  which  is  not  actual;  yet 
any  given  act  can  always  be  found  by  another  directed 
upon  it.  We  should  admit,  then,  that  at  any  moment  the 
whole  self  cannot  be  found ;  that  the  ultimate  act  of  finding 
is  not  itself  found;  but  we  deny  that  this  last  act  is  by 
nature  different  from  any  act  of  finding  which  we  do  dis- 
cover; for  the  fact  that  any  given  act  can  be  found,  and  when 
found  has  essentially  the  same  nature  as  all  other  acts,  is 
proof  that  there  is  no  aspect  of  the  self  which  is  inscrutable 
or  essentially  different  from  all  the  rest. 

And  the  admission  that  the  ultimate  act  of  finding  is  not 
itself  found  does  not  imply  that  it  is  known  in  some  peculiar 


8  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

fashion  diflferent  from  the  knowledge  of  other  things.  There 
is  only  one  type  of  knowledge,  that  through  concepts.  The 
self  is  known  when  there  exist  concepts  which  represent  it; 
the  self  is  found  when  such  concepts  are  in  contact  with,  are 
realized  in  the  activities  which  they  mean.  Now  the  ulti- 
mate judgment  in  which  these  concepts  are  embodied  is  not 
itself  known;  for,  by  hypothesis,  there  is  no  judgment 
directed  upon  it.  It  simply  exists.  The  supposition  that  it 
must  be  known  and,  since  it  cannot  be  known  in  the  ordi- 
nary fashion,  that  it  must  be  known  in  some  occult  mode,  is 
based  on  the  dogma  that  an  experience  cannot  be  without 
being  known,  that  its  very  essence  somehow  involves  a 
knowledge  of  it.  But,  although  most  of  our  adult  experi- 
ences are  actually  known,  as  will  appear  shortly,  they 
nevertheless  are  in  themselves  simply  what  they  are:  blue 
and  soft,  cold,  strife  and  peace. 

The  conception  of  the  self  which  stands  opposed  to  the  one 
which  we  have  been  advocating  is,  of  course,  that  of  the 
so-called  "  pure  ego."  There  exists,  it  is  asserted,  a  some- 
thing to  which  content  and  activities  are  given,  an  awareness 
or  consciousness,  without  the  accompaniment  of  which  no 
experience  can  exist.  This  conception  has  received  so  much 
able  criticism  in  recent  times  that  it  may  seem  superfluous 
to  consider  it  again.  A  re-examination  of  it  will,  however, 
throw  light  on  our  subject.  Let  us  review  the  supposed  data 
for  this  theory. 

First,  there  is  a  seeming  complexity,  a  duplicity  about 
every  experience,  even  the  simplest,  which  is  the  reason  why 
we  use  the  term  experience  to  denote  the  elements  of  mind 


THE  SELF  AND  THE  MIND  9 

and  are  not  content  to  refer  to  them  as  blue,  green,  hard,  as 
mere  quaUties  or  whats.  For  example,  blue  as  an  element 
of  mind  seems  to  be  something  in  addition  to  just  blue  — 
an  experience  or  perception  or  consciousness  of  blue. 

There  can  be  no  doubt  of  the  fact  referred  to  here;  but  the 
fact  is  insufficiently  analyzed  and  is  no  proof  of  the  existence 
of  mere  awareness.  For  the  complexity  of  any  content  or 
•  activity  is  due  to  its  involution  in  other  activities.  Blue,  as 
an  element  of  mind,  is  almost  always  suffused  with  some 
feeling,  some  interest;  and  even  when  there  is  no  feeling 
attached  to  it,  there  is  a  recognition  of  it  which  penetrates 
it  likewise  and  is  not  externally  related  to  it.  And  when  as 
philosophers  we  examine  the  mind,  we  cannot  find  any  con- 
tent or  activity  which  does  not  forthwith  become  a  known 
content  or  activity;  so  that,  when  we  reflect  upon  this,  we 
discover  not  only  the  original  data  but  our  own  knowing  of 
them  also :  a  knowledge  of  the  new  whole,  known  blue,  super- 
venes upon  the  mere  blue  to  be  known.  But  this  knowledge 
is,  of  course,  an  activity,  not  a  mysterious  something  dis- 
tinct from  all  activity.  It  is  this  constant  discovery  of  his 
own  recognition  of  the  elements  of  mind  by  the  reflective 
act  of  the  thinker  which  accounts  for  the  doctrine  of  the 
pure  ego,  rather  than,  as  James  supposed,  the  discovery  of 
some  attendant  muscular  or  organic  sensation;  the  latter  is 
far  too  irrelevant  a  thing  to  mislead  thmkers  of  the  rank  of 
those  who  have  embraced  this  doctrine.  We  admit  there- 
fore the  duplicity  —  why  not  the  multiplicity  ?  —  of  most 
of  our  experiences;  but  we  deny  that  one  of  the  threads  of 
the  skein  is  anything  unique;  we  assert  rather  that  it  is  just 
an  ordinary  activity;  usually  it  is  knowledge. 


lO  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

A  second  datum  for  the  theory  of  the  pure  ego  is  the  fol- 
lowing: There  seems  to  be  something  which  remains  iden- 
tical through  the  flux  of  different  contents  and  activities; 
observe  how,  in  the  shift  from  this  to  that,  there  is  something 
which  abides  throughout  and  seems  to  embrace  the  chang- 
ing items;  when  the  clock  ticks,  for  example,  there  seems  to 
be  something  which  spans  the  successive  sounds.  But  is  the 
permanence  here  anything  more  or  less  than  some  relatively 
stable  elements  of  the  mind  which  contrast  with  those  in 
flux  ?  Is  it  not  they  which,  through  their  successive  contact 
with  the  different  inflowing  elements,  span  the  transition  ? 
In  particular,  is  not  the  attitude  of  recognition  and  expecta- 
tion just  the  permanent  element  in  question  ?  If,  on  the 
other  hand,  the  point  of  this  argument  is  to  insist  on  the 
identity  of  the  self  and  mind  despite  equally  obvious 
change,  we  frankly  admit  that  there  is  a  problem;  only 
we  claim  that  its  solution  does  not  involve  the  existence  of 
the  pure  ego,  but  is  possible  in  terms  of  the  nature  of  the 
mind  as  we  have  defined  it,  as  we  shall  try  to  prove  in  our 
next  chapter. 

In  the  third  place,  one  might  claim  that  consciousness  or 
awareness  is  different  from  its  content  because  it  may  be 
more  or  less;  while  the  latter  does  not  offer  any  differences 
in  degree.  There  is,  for  example,  a  difference  of  degree 
between  the  present  activity  of  my  thinking  and  the  sound 
of  my  heart-beat;  yet  the  quality  of  both  would  be  the 
same  if  the  degree  were  reversed ;  for  the  difference  is  in  the 
awareness  of  these  things,  not  in  the  things  themselves.  But 
surely  the  fact  referred  to  here  is  nothing  more  or  less  than 


THE  SELF  AND  THE  MIND  II 

what  the  psychologists  call  clearness,  and  clearness  is  an 
attribute  of  the  elements  of  mind,  not  itself  the  mind.  It  is 
no  doubt  true  that  elements  can  have  degrees  of  clearness 
only  in  the  mind,  acquiring  these  differences  through  their 
relations  to  one  another  there.  Clearness  has,  furthermore, 
some  close  relation,  as  Titchener  says,  to  the  "  existence  or 
being  of  mental  elements;  their  becoming,  their  existence 
more  or  less,  their  temporal  course."  Yet  these  facts  prove 
again  only  that  clearness  is  an  attribute  of  the  elements  of 
mind,  not  that  it  is  mind  itself. 

A  final  objection  to  our  view  would  run  somewhat  as  fol- 
lows: The  activities  with  which  you  have  identified  the  self 
are  manifold,  whereas  the  self  is  one;  desiring,  feeling  and 
thinking  are  different,  but  the  same  self  desires  and  thinks 
and  feels.  Well,  the  self  is  certainly  one,  yet  just  as  cer- 
tainly a  multiplicity;  for  it  owns  the  many  activities  inde- 
feasibly.  Its  oneness  must  therefore  be  compatible  with  its 
plurality.  And  it  need  not  be  anything  besides  or  in  addi- 
tion to  them.  For  the  fact  that  we  use  the  simple  concept 
"  I  "  or  self  does  not  prove  that  the  self  is  distinct  from  its 
many  acts;  for  we  use  this  concept  to  denote  the  unity  of  the 
acts  rather  than  the  acts  singly  and  to  contrast  them  as 
members  of  this  unity  with  "  yours,"  which  do  not  belong 
there.  Just  so,  we  speak  of  "  the  rose  "  in  order  to  indicate  it 
as  a  whole;  yet  we  do  not  imply  that  it  is  something  in  ad- 
dition to  its  various  parts — stem,  root,  petals  and  the  rest. 

It  is  plain  from  our  discussions  that  the  unity  of  the  self  is, 
next  to  the  problem  of  what  the  self  really  is,  the  burning 
question  in  this  field.    This  is  a  problem,  moreover,  the 


12  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

answer  to  which  is  of  decisive  importance  in  determining  the 
answers  to  most  other  metaphysical  problems.  It  is  also 
clear  that  we  cannot  separate  this  problem  from  that  of  the 
unity  of  mind,  of  which  the  self  is  a  part.  For  the  self  is 
intertwined  with  content  and  both  together  form  a  single 
whole.  Hence  we  must  first  investigate  the  pattern  of  the 
entire  web,  the  mind,  before  we  can  discover  the  minor 
design  of  the  self.  Let  us  proceed,  then,  to  this  larger  prob- 
lem. Throughout  we  shall  have  to  confine  ourselves  to  the 
broader  aspects  of  the  subject  in  their  bearing  on  metaphysi- 
cal topics.  The  unity  of  mind  has  two  dimensions  —  con- 
temporaneous and  sequential:  at  any  given  moment  the 
mind  is  one  whole,  and,  in  some  fashion  or  other,  the  same 
as  that  which  existed  a  moment  before  and  throughout  all 
moments  of  its  existence.  The  two  dimensions  are  interre- 
lated, but  we  shall  start  with  the  first,  leaving  the  other  for 
our  next  chapter. 

The  mental  unity  which  we  are  studying  must  be  clearly 
distinguished  from  that  which  is  studied  by  psychologists. 
They  try  to  find  the  causes  why  this  or  that  element  is  in  the 
mind;  the  conditions  for  its  existence  there.  The  laws  of 
association  and  habit  serve  this  end.  Our  task  is  a  quite 
different  one.  We  are  not  inquiring  into  the  conditions  for 
the  existence  of  any  element  in  the  whole,  but  into  the  dis- 
tinctive character  of  the  whole,  once  it  exists.  We  are 
interested  in  its  cross-sectional,  not  in  its  dynamic  unity. 
Our  interest  is  in  the  former  rather  than  in  the  latter,  partly 
because  the  latter  has  been  studied  with  some  success  by 
psychologists,  while  the  former  has  been  largely  neglected 


THE  SELF  AND  THE  MIND  1 3 

by  them ;  but  chiefly  because  the  former  is  of  supreme  impor- 
tance for  the  solution  of  certain  philosophical  problems. 

An  examination  of  the  mind  readily  reveals  the  fact  that 
there  are  many  types  of  unity  there.  One  of  these  is  usually 
taken  to  be  fundamental.  For  if  there  are  many  unities  in 
the  mind,  it  is  clear  that  there  must  be  a  basal  one  to  weave 
the  many  themselves  into  a  unity.  I  do  not  mean,  of  course, 
that  the  larger  unity  is  independent  of  the  smaller  ones,  but 
simply  that  it  cannot  be  identical  with  any  of  them,  and 
must  have  its  own  specific  nature.  We  shall  begin  with  a 
criticism  of  some  of  the  more  fundamental  of  the  lesser 
unities  to  the  end  of  discovering  the  fundamental  one  which 
they  all  imply. 

One  minor  type  of  unity  among  mental  elements  is  that 
of  class.  It  is  important  to  scrutinize  this  because  it  has 
recently  been  regarded  as  fundamental.  The  mind  has  been 
defined  as  a  class  of  elements  and  the  problem  of  mind 
described  as  that  of  finding  the  defining  relation  of  the  class. 
Now  things  form  a  class  either  because  they  resemble  one 
another  in  sorqe  respect  or,  most  generally  of  all,  because 
they  have  a  given  relation  to  some  term. 

That  the  fundamental  type  of  unity  is  not  that  of  class 
defined  in  the  first  way  is  clear,  because  there  is  no  unique 
point  of  resemblance  which  at  once  embraces  all  the  ele- 
ments of  a  mind  and  distinguishes  them  from  every  other 
mind.  The  elements  of  a  mind  form  a  multitude  of  exclu- 
sive or  intersecting  classes:  the  visual,  auditory,  tactual, 
clear  and  unclear,  and  so  on,  indefinitely.  But  no  one  of 
these  classes  unites  them  all.    And  those  classes  which  do 


14  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

unite  all  the  elements  of  a  mind  —  such  as  the  classes  of  all 
elements  which  are  temporal  or  existent,  for  example  — 
contain  the  elements  of  every  mind.  There  is  no  class, 
defined  through  resemblance,  to  which  all  the  elements  of 
one  mind  belong  and  from  which  those  of  other  minds  are 
excluded.  But  even  if  minds  have  some  elements  in  com- 
mon, those  which  belong  to  a  given  mind  are  united  among 
themselves  in  a  way  in  which  they  are  not  united  with  some, 
at  least,  of  the  elements  of  other  minds. 

Next,  let  us  inquire  whether  the  elements  of  mind  form  a 
unique  class  through  the  relation  of  all  to  some  unique  thing. 
This  is  the  path  taken  by  most  of  the  so-called  new  realists. 
The  thing  in  question  is  supposed  to  be  the  brain,  or  the 
body  if  the  psycho-physical  relation  is  thought  of  as  involv- 
ing the  entire  organism.  The  elements  of  a  mind  are  one  at 
least  in  this  respect,  that  they  and  they  alone  have  the 
psycho-physical  relation  to  a  particular  body.  It  is  not 
necessary,  for  our  present  purpose,  to  define  this  relation; 
it  is  sufficient  to  indicate  it  as  one  which,  however  defined, 
must  be  admitted  by  all.  Now  we  must  grant,  of  course, 
that  the  elements  of  a  given  mind  do  have  a  relation  to  a 
particular  brain  or  body  which  no  other  elements  have;  and 
that  through  this  relation  they  are  constituted  into  a  unity. 
Yet,  until  we  know  definitely  what  the  relation  between 
mind  and  body  is,  we  cannot  know  from  its  mere  existence 
what  kind  of  unity  it  constitutes.  If  I  were  told  that  several 
individuals  stood  in  the  filial  relation  to  a  certain  man  but 
knew  nothing  about  that  relation,  I  could  form  no  idea  of  the 
unity  which  they  composed;    I  could  simply  know  that  it 


THE  SELF  AND  THE  MIND  1 5 

existed.  This  the  new  reahsts  recognize,  because  in  defining 
mind  through  the  psycho-physical  relation  they  proceed  on 
the  basis  of  a  definite  notion  of  that  relation  - —  reaction. 
The  mind,  they  say,  is  the  class  of  elements  selected  out  of 
the  whole  universe  of  things  through  the  reactions  of  the 
body  to  them.  Whatever  a  body  reacts  to  forthwith  be- 
comes an  element  in  a  corresponding  mind ;  a  mind  is  just 
the  class  of  such  elements.  But  you  cannot  define  mind  as 
the  class  of  elements  reacted  to  by  a  body,  for  this  one 
reason  at  least,  namely,  that  many  of  the  elements  do  not 
exist  previous  to  their  existence  as  elements  of  mind,  and  so 
are  incapable  of  being  selected  out  through  the  body's 
action.  It  is  absurd  to  think  of  the  brain  as  reacting  to  feel- 
ings and  memories  in  the  same  way  that  the  organism  reacts 
to  light  or  heat.  I  do  not  mean,  of  course,  that  there  is  no 
psycho-physical  process  of  memory  or  feeling;  I  mean  that 
you  cannot  start  with  these  things  as  given  independent  of 
the  mind  and  then  define  their  presence  within  the  mind  by 
means  of  the  psycho-physical  relation;  above  all,  you  can- 
not think  of  the  brain  as  selecting  them  by  reacting  upon 
them.  You  cannot  start  with  the  universe  of  all  elements 
undifferentiated  into  mental  and  non-mental,  and  then 
define  the  former  as  a  group  selected  out  of  the  whole 
through  organic  action,  because  a  large  share  of  the  elements 
of  mind  do  not  exist  at  all  except  as  mental  elements. 

But  there  are  other  reasons  closer  at  hand  for  rejecting 
this  method  of  describing  the  unity  of  mind.  In  the  first 
place,  the  unity  of  mind  is  a  fact  of  immediate  experience, 
something  patent  to  the  direct  inspection  of  mind ;  it  can  be 


1 6  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

known  quite  apart  from  any  knowledge  of  the  body  or  the 
brain.  In  the  second  place,  when  we  do  appeal  to  the  testi- 
mony of  the  mind  as  to  its  own  unity,  we  find  that  its  unity 
is  misrepresented  if  described  as  a  class  or  collection.  It  is 
characteristic  of  a  class  or  collection  that  when  you  take 
away  or  adjoin  an  element  you  alter  only  its  numerical  and 
ordinal  properties.  But  this  is  not  true  of  the  mind.  The 
loss  or  adjunction  of  an  element  produces  changes  both  in 
the  mind  as  a  whole  and  in  the  individual  elements  of  the 
whole.  The  sudden  emergence  of  an  acute  pain,  for  example, 
will  cause  a  disappearance  of  many  elements  from  the  mind 
and  the  suffusion  of  the  remaining  ones  with  a  mood  of  dis- 
satisfaction;  thoughts  and  purposes  will  take  flight;  a  com- 
plex pattern  will  be  reduced  to  a  simple  one;  the  relative 
clearness  and  uncleamess  of  elements  will  be  reversed;  the 
body  which  was  marginal  will  become  focal  and  the  once 
dominant  ideas  will  be  scattered  to  the  background  or  dis- 
appear. Again,  a  class  can  be  defined  by  a  mere  enumera- 
tion of  the  elements  which  compose  it;  but  not  so  a  mind. 
There  is  a  mode  of  combination  of  one  element  with  another, 
an  interfusion,  which  no  mere  enumeration  can  describe. 
Wistfuhiess  and  violet  color  will  not  describe  that  suffusion 
of  one  by  the  other  which  characterizes  the  sensitive  intui- 
tion of  the  flower.  In  short,  the  elements  of  a  mind  are  a 
whole,  not  a  mere  class.  No  indication  of  the  reactions  of 
the  body  to  elements  of  its  environment  can  explain  or 
describe  this  wholeness. 

Another  type  of  unity  within  the  mind  is  that  of  meaning. 
Thus  all  the  words  on  this  page  as  I  write  them,  as  they  be- 


THE  SELF  AND  THE  MIND  1 7 

come  elements  of  my  mind,  are  united  with  one  another 
through  the  one  thought  which  they  convey,  and  with  the 
keys  of  the  typewriter  through  the  apperceived  causal  rela- 
tion between  the  striking  and  the  printing.  Similarly,  each 
part  of  the  machine,  for  one  who  knows  the  scheme  of  the 
whole,  refers  to  or  means  every  other  part.  Almost,  if  not 
all,  the  things  in  the  room,  books,  pictures,  chairs,  tables, 
as  elements  of  the  mind,  are  meanings,  items  of  experience 
which  refer  beyond  themselves  to  other  things.  And  mean- 
ing is  a  mode  of  union  which  seems  to  be  uniquely  character- 
istic of  mind.  Apart  from  mind  things  may  perhaps  have 
causal,  spatial  and  other  relations,  but  they  do  not  mean  one 
another.  Only  when  they  are  apperceived  in  their  relations 
to  one  another,  so  that  one  may  suggest  another  to  a  mind, 
do  they  mean  one  another.  For  example,  clouds  may  per- 
haps cause  or  be  followed  by  rain  independently  of  mind; 
but  they  can  mean  rain  only  to  a  mind  which  uses  them  as 
signs  from  which  to  infer  rain.  Yet  meaning  is  not  the  funda- 
mental unity  of  mind.  In  order  for  it  to  be  this,  each  item  of 
mind  would  have  to  mean  every  other  item.  Now  each  item 
may  do  this  —  for  reflection ;  there  is  surely  some  respect  in 
which  each  may  suggest  every  other.  But  before  reflection 
there  are  countless  elements  which  do  not  do  this.  The  sight 
of  the  child  in  the  street  did  not  mean  my  elbow,  yet  both 
were  present  within  the  unity  of  my  mind.  And  that  mean- 
ing is  not  the  essence  of  the  unity  of  mind  is  also  clear  from 
the  fact  that  an  element  of  one  mind  may  mean  an  element 
of  another  without  thereby  forming  with  it  a  single  mind. 
For  example,  the  sound  of  your  voice  means  to  me  a  certain 


53^^ 


1 8  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

emotion  of  yours,  which  can  never  be  an  element  in  my  con- 
sciousness. Meaning  is  one  of  the  characteristic  modes  of 
union  between  the  elements  of  different  minds;  hence  it 
cannot  constitute  the  unique  principle  of  union  within  a 
single  mind. 

A  fourth  type  of  unity  of  which  much  has  been  made  is 
that  of  purpose  or  interest.  At  any  given  moment  of  experi- 
ence a  large  number  of  items  are  clearly  united  through  some 
single  purpose  which  they  are  all  subserving  or  some  one 
interest  which  they  all  arouse.  For  example,  when  a  botanist 
examines  a  flower,  the  multitude  of  his  impressions  are  bound 
together  by  the  interest  which  he  displays  in  them,  and  the 
movements  of  his  fingers,  so  far  as  they  reach  consciousness, 
are  all  connected  as  serving  the  purpose  of  study.  But  this 
type  of  unity  —  through  an  activity  of  the  self  —  although 
another  very  important  one,  is  not  the  most  fundamental, 
for  reasons  exactly  the  same  as  in  the  preceding  case.  For 
at  any  moment  there  are  items  of  mind  which  are  not  united 
in  this  way.  The  crying  of  the  child  is  irrelevant  to  the 
purpose  of  writing.  One  might  answer,  of  course,  that  it  is 
connected  just  as  a  disturbing  element.  But  what  of  the 
thousand  impressions  in  the  field  of  inattention  ?  These  are 
related  neither  as  serving  nor  as  hindering  purpose;  yet 
they  are  present  along  with  the  rest  in  the  one  mind.  And 
how  is  the  mind  united  when  there  is  a  conflict  of  interests 
within  it,  as  when  I  try  to  write  and  to  listen  to  what  is 
going  on  upstairs  ?  There  is  no  higher  purpose  or  interest 
which  spans  both.  Finally,  interest  may  be  directed  upon 
things  which  do  not  thereby  come  within  the  circle  of  one's 


THE  SELF  AND  THE  MIND  1 9 

mind.  Thus,  when  we  take  an  interest  in  each  other,  we  are 
not  made  into  one  whole  of  experience.  The  unity  of  mind 
cannot,  therefore,  be  described  in  terms  of  mere  interest 
alone. 

Another  type  of  union  is  that  which  is  made  by  the  rela- 
tion of  the  elements  of  mind  to  the  idea  of  the  self.  A  large 
mass  of  experience  is  continually  suffused  by  this  idea. 
The  emotions  awakened  during  social  intercourse  and  the 
elements  of  the  conscious  body  with  which  they  are  con- 
nected are  notably  so.  As  has  often  been  observed,  the  idea 
of  the  self  serves  to  mark  off  the  elements  of  one  mind  from 
those  of  another;  it  is  therefore  uppermost  when  social  life 
with  its  contrasts  occupies  attention.  Its  sphere  of  applica- 
tion is  properly,  of  course,  the  activities  which  constitute 
the  self  and  those  elements  of  mind  with  which  they  are 
most  closely  interwoven.  But  since  all  the  elements  of  the 
mind  are  connected  more  or  less  closely  with  the  self,  it  is 
possible  to  refer  them  all  to  the  idea  of  the  self.  In  aesthetic 
perception,  for  example,  one  may  connect  the  idea  of  the 
self  with  the  colors  or  lines  or  sounds  of  a  beautiful  thing  — 
feeling  oneself  into  them,  as  the  Germans  say.  Yet  this 
reference  to  the  idea  of  the  self  is  intermittent.  We  must 
remember  that  this  act  is  one  of  reflection.  The  idea  of  the 
self  is  a  concept  under  which  certain  elements  are  subsumed. 
The  idea  of  the  self  is  not  the  self.  It  serves  most  effectively 
to  unite  the  elements  which  are  referred  to  it;  yet  the  mind 
can  and  does  exist  without  it.  Before  the  development  of 
ideation,  it  could  not  exist  at  all.  The  self,  of  course,  is  as  old 
as  the  mind,  but  not  so  the  idea  of  the  self.    The  greatest 


20  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

confusion  has  arisen  through  failure  to  distinguish  between 
the  two.  Because  the  idea  of  the  self  can  easily  be  shown  not 
to  be  an  original  existence,  people  have  supposed  that  the 
self  was  also  derivative;  but  such  an  argument  would  de- 
molish all  experience;  for  the  concepts  under  which  we 
subsume  any  part  of  it  are,  of  course,  genetically  secondary. 
The  confusion  leads  also  to  grave  ethical  consequences;  for 
the  idea  of  the  self  is  created  more  by  wish  than  by  observa- 
tion and  therefore  misleads  us  constantly  into  thinking  that 
we  can  do  things  of  which  we  are  really  incapable  —  the 
source  of  all  the  great  illusions.  Again,  the  idea  of  the  self  is 
more  largely  reflective  of  what  other  people  think  we  are  or 
want  us  to  be  than  of  what  we  are  or  want  ourselves  to  be; 
hence  when  we  act  according  to  it,  although  we  may  satisfy 
others,  we  often  fail  to  satisfy  ourselves.  The  self  is  primary, 
not  the  idea  of  the  self,  which  may,  and  usually  does,  partly 
misrepresent  the  self;  the  self  accompanies  all  of  our  experi- 
ences; the  idea  of  the  self  only  certain  ones  under  certain 
conditions,  mostly  of  a  social  origin  and  character.  The 
self-conscious  man  is  one  in  whose  mind  there  is  clear  and 
uppermost  an  idea  of  the  self.  Yet  even  such  a  person  is  at 
times  without  it.  When  he  is  alone  and  quietly  working,  it  is 
not  present  with  him.  Hence  the  suffusion  of  the  elements  of 
mind  with  the  idea  of  the  self  creates  only  a  subordinate 
type  of  unity. 

The  fact  that  the  self  and  the  idea  of  the  self  are  dis- 
tinct, although  related,  elements  of  mind  has  caused  much 
confusion  of  terminology.  The  terms,  consciousness,  self- 
consciousness,  self  and  mind  are  not  always  clearly  distin- 


THE  SELF  AND  THE  MIND  21 

guished.  Let  us  fix  our  own  use  of  them.  We  have  already 
agreed  to  employ  mind  and  consciousness  as  equivalent 
terms  to  mean  a  personal  whole  of  experience.  By  self  we 
have  agreed  to  mean  the  activities  in  their  unity.  Now, 
although  the  self  and  the  idea  of  the  self,  the  mind  and  the 
idea  of  the  mind  are  distinct  things,  and  both  mind  and  self 
may  exist  without  being  knowTi ;  nevertheless,  consciousness 
and  self-consciousness  are  continually  being  confused.  This 
is  perhaps  most  strikingly  brought  out  in  the  use  of  the 
negatives  of  these  terms.  Thus  the  term  "  unconscious  " 
is  employed  not  only  with  the  proper  meaning  of  the  absence 
of  something  from  mind  or  the  non-existence  of  a  mind,  as  in 
the  phrases  "  I  lost  consciousness  "  and  "  I  was  not  con- 
scious of  the  noise  ";  but  also  with  the  improper  meaning  of 
the  failure  to  know  something  which  is  in  the  mind,  the 
absence  from  the  mind  of  an  idea  which  means  it,  as  when 
one  is  said  to  work  "  unconsciously  "  when  one  works  with- 
out plan  or  criticism,  when  one  forgets  oneself,  that  is, 
remits  attention  to  one's  acts,  and  so  lets  the  idea  of  them, 
which  is  their  reflex,  lapse.  One  is  even  said  to  be  conscious 
when  what  is  really  meant  is  that  one  is  self-conscious;  the 
person  who  is  "  conscious  "  about  his  behaviour  being,  of 
course,  the  self-conscious  person.  Yet  the  poet  is  conscious 
during  the  most  unreflective,  inspirational  activity,  although 
not  self-conscious;  the  most  intense  moments  of  conscious- 
ness are  the  most  "  unconscious  "  in  the  improper  meaning 
of  the  term  —  the  most  free  from  self-consciousness. 

The  discussion  of  the  last  paragraph  leads  to  the  con- 
sideration of  a  final  method  of  describing  the  unity  of  mind. 


22  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

The  mind,  one  may  say,  consists  of  all  those  elements  of 
reality  in  which  one  can  get  an  adequate  realization  of  an 
idea  which  means  them ;  it  consists  of  all  those  things  which 
can  be  brought  into  contact  with  the  idea  of  them.  Other 
things,  outside  of  the  mind,  cannot  be  brought  into  contact 
with  such  an  idea.  Now  we, have  already  used  this  method 
to  find  the  elements  of  mind  and  to  delimit  them  from  things 
not  in  the  mind.  And  it  is  true  that  the  finding  of  elements 
by  an  idea  which  was  "  looking  for  them  "  does  bring  them 
into  unity  with  the  idea,  in  the  first  place,  and  with  the  rest 
of  the  mind,  in  the  second  place.  But  it  is  easy  to  see  that 
this  type  of  unification  cannot  be  the  fundamental  one. 
For  not  all  elements  of  the  mind  are  found ;  they  exist  in  the 
unity  of  mind  before  we  reflectively  look  for  them.  The 
primary  unity  of  mind  exists  before  any  one  seeks  to  test 
whether  an  element  belongs  within  it  or  not.  This  type  of 
unity  is,  therefore,  like  the  others  which  we  have  examined, 
a  secondary  one  which  may  be  superposed,  along  with  the 
rest,  upon  the  original  type. 

Let  us  now  turn  from  a  critique  of  current  accounts  of  the 
unity  of  mind  to  a  somewhat  independent  investigation  of 
the  matter. 

The  mistake  of  most  of  the  accounts  which  we  have  ex- 
amined was  to  substitute  some  secondary  type  which  may 
be  present,  but  is  not  uniquely  characteristic,  for  the  pri- 
mary one  upon  which  it  depends.  Thus  the  unity  through 
interest,  as  we  saw,  was  not  in  itself  a  unification  of  the 
elements  of  mind,  since  it  may  embrace  things,  like  other 
minds,  which  do  not  form  elements  of  the  one  mind  in  ques- 


THE  SELF  AND  THE  MIND  23 

tion.  The  same  we  saw  to  be  true  of  meaning  and  of  knowl- 
edge. It  is  only  when  an  interest  in  things  is  in  contact  with 
them  that  it  serves  to  unite  them  in  the  whole  of  mind ;  it  is 
only  when  an  idea  which  means  a  thing  can  also  touch  it,  as 
it  were,  that  the  two  form  elements  of  a  single  mind ;  it  is 
only  when  one  thing  which  suggests  another  is  in  contact 
with  that  other  through  contact  of  both  with  an  apperceiv- 
ing  idea,  that  the  union  which  we  seek  is  effected.  The 
primary  unity  of  mind  consists  in  the  contact  of  the  self 
with  content;  upon  this  as  a  basis  is  built  more  complex 
types  of  unification. 

Let  us  develop  this.  First  let  us  recall  what  we  mean  by 
the  self.  The  self  consists  of  the  activities,  of  striving,  feel- 
ing and  thinking,  in  their  various  modes  and  with  their 
attendant  images  and  organic  reverberations.  Now  the 
presence  in  mind  of  any  content  is  its  contact  with  them. 
For  example,  I  am  conscious  of,  have  in  mind,  the  clock 
tick  when  I,  this  whole  of  striving,  feeling,  thinking,  am 
welded  together  with  it,  when  it  penetrates  this  mass,  touch- 
ing an  interest  or  a  judgment  of  recognition  or  a  mood,  and 
so  soliciting  and  usually  receiving  the  direction  of  these 
things  upon  it.  Contact  with  the  self  does  not  depend  upon 
the  direction  of  interest  or  judgment  upon  content;  when  a 
content  enters  the  mind,  these  functions  are  usually  engaged 
upon  content  already  present.  No;  the  contact  of  the  con- 
tent elicits  this  direction;  the  contact  with  the  activities 
comes  first;  the  direction  of  the  activities  follows.  Elements 
of  content  may  belong  to  all  kinds  of  other  wholes,  quahta- 
tive  and  causal,  like  a  chord  or  a  mechanism;  but  I  am  con- 


24  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

scious  of  them,  they  are  "  in  mind,"  only  when  they  come 
into  contact  with  the  self  and  bring  one  of  the  activities  to 
bear  upon  it.  A  bit  of  content  comes  to  mind  when  it 
touches  the  self;  it  passes  from  consciousness  when  this 
contact  is  ruptured.  Thus,  when  I  open  my  eyes  I  am 
brought  into  contact  with  the  landscape;  when  I  close  them 
I  am  shut  off  from  it.  Through  an  idea  which  remembers  it, 
I  may  still  take  an  interest  in  it,  may  take  pleasure  in  it  and 
know  it;  but  my  interest  can  no  longer  play  upon  it  or  my 
pleasure  encircle  it  or  my  knowing  idea  melt  with  it. 

In  describing  the  unity  of  the  self  with  content  as  a  con- 
tact of  one  with  the  other,  I  do  not  wish  to  imply  that  this 
relation  is  spatial.  I  use  ''contact"  as  the  most  expressive 
term  which  we  possess  to  indicate  that  unique  being  together 
of  content  with  the  self  which  everybody  who  observes  his 
own  mind  will  understand. 

The  unity  of  the  self  with  content  may  be  greater  or  less. 
Data  in  the  field  of  inattention  are  only  loosely  connected 
with  it;  they  touch  the  self  without  being  embraced  by  it. 
Elements  are  closely  connected  when  they  are  interwoven 
with  many  activities  simultaneously.  Thus,  in  aesthetic 
manufacture,  color  and  line  and  touch  are  suffused  with 
pleasure  and  interest,  and  even  at  times  with  the  idea  of  the 
self.  Or  in  longing  for  spring  there  is  a  meaning  which 
inheres  in  images  of  warmth  and  green,  around  which  circle 
desire  and  pleasure  and  the  idea  of  the  self.  The  most  im- 
pressive cases  of  complete  unification  are  excited  perception, 
as  in  watching  the  acts  of  an  enemy,  beauty,  and  the  aban- 
don of  passion.    Very  seldom,  however,  is  the  mind  com- 


THE  SELF  AND  THE  MIND  25 

pletely  integrated;  seldom,  if  ever,  are  all  the  activities  con- 
centrated at  a  given  point;  they  are  usually  diffused  over  a 
wide  area,  so  that  few  elements  of  content  penetrate  the 
whole  self,  but,  remaining  at  the  periphery,  fail  to  reach  the 
center.  An  element  may,  however,  gradually  work  its  way 
to  the  focus.  Thus,  when  occupied  in  writing,  a  bit  of  color 
in  the  landscape  will  at  first  be  scarcely  seen;  presently, 
however,  more  and  more  of  the  interest  of  the  self  will  be 
bent  towards  it;  thought,  feeling  and  memory  will  be 
brought  into  touch  with  it  —  it  will  at  last  have  become 
entwined  with  the  whole  self.  And  the  reverse  process  may 
occur.  A  pain  will  at  first  draw  to  itself  the  thoughts,  feel- 
ings and  energies  of  the  self;  soon,  however,  while  remain- 
ing just  as  acute,  the  activities  will  be  drawn  away  from  it 
to  other  things,  until,  finally,  it  will  exist  only  on  the  out- 
skirts, ready  at  any  moment  to  break  contact  with  the  self 
and  so  to  disappear  from  the  mind.  What  is  called  the 
clearness  of  content  is  in  general  a  function  of  the  closeness 
of  this  contact  of  the  self  with  it. 

Thus  the  primary  unity  of  mind  consists  in  the  contact  of 
the  self  with  content:  I  am  conscious  of,  have  in  mind, 
whatever  I  am  in  contact  with.  If,  then,  this  constitutes  the 
unity  of  mind,  what,  we  must  inquire  next,  constitutes  the 
unity  of  the  self  ?  The  unity  of  the  self  is  something  similar, 
only  more  closely  knit.  Of  what  sort,  for  example,  is  the 
unity  of  this  memory  of  injury,  this  indignation  and  desire 
for  vengeance  and  thoughts  seeking  impetuously  a  scheme 
of  retribution  —  all  present  simultaneously  in  the  breast  of 
a  man  ?  It  is  clearly  not  the  convergence  of  the  many  activi- 


26  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

ties  upon  one  topic;  for  the  activities  of  many  men  may 
similarly  converge,  yet  do  not  form  one  self;  and  a  man 
still  remains  one  man  .when  his  activities  are  distraught; 
when  impulses  tear  him  in  diverse  directions  or  when  he 
tries  to  think  of  many  things  at  once.  Well,  the  unity  within 
the  self  is  open  for  any  man  to  inspect ;  let  him  compare  the 
appropriateness  of  the  expressions  which  we  shall  use  to 
describe  it  with  the  evidence  of  his  own  experience.  The 
unity,  we  say,  is  an  interweaving  of  the  activities.  It  is 
nothing  besides  them ;  it  is  a  growing  together  of  them,  an 
interpenetration  of  them.  Just  as  color  and  shape  are 
grown  together  in  a  flower,  so  thought  and  feeling  and  striv- 
ing are  grown  together  in  the  self.  And  this  interweaving  of 
activities  is,  we  repeat,  different  from  their  ideal  unity  in  the 
direction  of  them  to  the  same  end.  The  ideal  unity  is 
correlated  with  a  real  unity,  but  does  not  suffice  to  create  it. 
Just  as  the  unity  of  the  self  with  content  has  degrees,  so 
the  unity  of  the  activities  may  be  more  or  less.  It  is  greatest 
in  states  of  what  we  call  concentration ;  it  is  less  in  distrac- 
tion ;  and  least  of  all  in  those  pathological  conditions  when 
it  threatens  to  be  disrupted.  We  may  compare  the  state  of 
concentration  of  activities  to  a  pencil  of  rays  which  He  so 
close  together  that  they  almost  form  a  single  strand;  in 
distraction  the  rays  diverge,  yet  keep  their  point  of  contact; 
in  pathological  conditions  the  divergence  is  still  greater, 
until,  in  dissociation,  the  pulling  apart  is  successful  and  the 
tie  is  broken.  When  I  say  that  it  is  the  one  self  which  thinks 
and  desires  and  feels  I  do  not  imply  that  there  is  some  bare 
unity  which  enters  into  each  of  these  activities  and  makes 


THE  SELF  AND  THE  MIND  27 

them  all  one;  I  mean  that  the  desire  is  interwoven  with  the 
thinking  and  with  the  feeling;  that  one  activity  is  penetrat- 
ing another,  so  that,  in  a  true  sense,  the  whole  self  —  all  the 
activities  —  is  present  in  any  one  of  them. 

Thus,  to  conclude,  we  have  found  that  the  unity  of  the 
mind  consists,  in  the  first  place,  of  the  contact  of  the  self 
with  content;  and,  in  the  second  place,  of  the  interweav- 
ing of  the  many  activities,  which  are  the  self,  one  with 
another.  The  activities  are  interwoven  among  themselves 
and  with  the  content,  and  this  woven  web  is  the  mind. 


CHAPTER  II 

PERSONAL  IDENTITY 

IN  the  present  chapter  we  shall  discuss  the  sequential  unity 
of  the  mind.  In  what  sense  does  the  mind  of  one  moment 
form  one  mind  with  that  of  another  moment  ?  From  the 
cradle  to  the  grave,  the  life  of  the  individual  is  a  continual 
process  of  change;  yet  to  itself  and  to  others,  it  seems  to  be 
one  life;  the  self  that  dies  is  the,same  self,  we  believe, as  that 
which  was  born.  Let  us  begin  our  discussion  with  leading 
theories  of  the  subject  and  then  offer  our  o\\ti.  We  shall  find 
that  the  identity  of  the  mind  has  always  been  denied  under 
cover  of  accepting  it. 

First,  there  is  the  theory  that  the  identity  of  the  mind  con- 
sists in  the  identity  of  the  body  or  the  brain  with  which  it  is 
connected.  Experience,  it  is  said,  is  essentially  evanescent; 
it  is  born  and  dead  at  every  moment;  the  same  experience 
never  recurs;  during  sleep  it  does  not  exist  at  all.  Yet  the 
body,  and  the  brain  in  particular,  upon  which  experience 
depends,  has  a  continuous  existence.  The  same  body  wakens 
and  acts  which  became  quiet  and  slept ;  the  same  body  that 
was  placed  in  the  cradle  is  put  into  the  grave.  That  this 
theory  is  really  a  denial  of  personal  identity  is  clear  from  the 
following  considerations.  In  the  first  place,  the  experience 
of  an  individual  is  not  his  brain.  If  the  brain  has  a  continu- 
ous existence  and  experience  only  a  fleeting  and  interrupted 

28 


PERSONAL  IDENTITY  29 

one,  they  cannot  be  identical.  Or,  if  experience  is  identified 
with  some  particular  phase  of  the  brain's  action,  why  when 
I  know  my  own  experience  do  I  not  know  this  physical  proc- 
ess also  ?  For,  if  one  thing  is  identical  with  another,  a 
knowledge  of  the  first  involves  a  knowledge  of  the  second. 
Yet  notoriously  the  introspection  of  experience  does  not 
reveal  any  trace  of  the  brain.  And  even  if  experience  were 
identical  with  certain  phases  of  the  brain's  action,  no  iden- 
tity within  experience  would  be  guaranteed ;  for  the  phases 
themselves  are  admittedly  transient.  An  identity  in  the 
brain's  substance,  if  it  existed,  would  not  create  an  identity 
in  its  phases;  but,  from  the  standpoint  of  natural  science, 
there  is  no  such  identity  there,  since  the  atoms  which  com- 
pose it  are  ever  being  replaced.  And  if,  finally,  it  is  claimed 
that  during  the  conscious  existence  of  the  individual  the 
form  of  the  atomic  swarm  remains  the  same,  and  that  this 
constitutes  the  real  identity  within  the  mind,  we  should 
have  to  ask  how  the  same  form  can  exist  in  different  matters, 
and  if  it  can,  why  experience  itself  may  not  have  a  direct 
identity  of  the  same  kind  ?  Why  have  recourse  to  the  brain 
at  all  ?  And  thus  we  should  be  led  into  the  theory  of 
personal  identity  which  we  shall  next  examine. 

According  to  this  second  theory,  the  identity  of  the  mind 
lies  within  the  mind  itself,  in  the  sameness  of  the  form  of  its 
elements.  The  essential  evanescence  of  the  substance  of 
experience  is  presupposed,  but  the  same  form  may  exist  in 
different  matters,  it  is  claimed.  Although  each  moment  of 
experience  is  unique  in  substance,  nevertheless,  the  quality 
of  the  organic  sensations  which  make  up  its  matrix  remains 


30  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

specifically  the  same,  and  the  desires,  purposes  and  life- 
plans  which  constitute  its  spiritual  core  are  ideally  identical 
from  moment  to  moment.  The  intent  of  this  theory  evi- 
dently depends  upon  the  logic  of  identity.  If  by  sameness  of 
form  or  quality  be  meant  similarity,  then  this  theory,  like 
the  others,  is  a  covert  denial  of  self  identity.  For  resem- 
blance, no  matter  how  great  you  make  it,  is  still  not  iden- 
tity. And  what  I  claim  with  my  past  self  is  not  mere 
similarity,  but  identity.  So  far  as  similarity  is  concerned,  I 
am  less  like  the  child  that  I  was  than  I  am  like  my  twin, 
whose  education,  way  of  life  and  thought  are  like  my  own. 
Yet,  so  we  claim,  I  and  the  child  are  one,  while  I  and  the 
twin  are  irreducibly  two.  On  the  other  hand,  if  by  identity 
of  form  be  meant  real  identity,  then  surely  this  is  not 
possible  at  all  with  a  different  matter  of  experience.  Form 
and  matter  are  not  so  external  to  one  another  that  the 
former  may  be  the  same  and  the  latter  utterly  different;  an 
identity  in  the  one  implies  some  identity  in  the  other.  Two 
things  may  have  similar  forms  and  remain  two ;  they  cannot 
have  the  same  form  without  being  one. 

There  is  a  Platonic  interpretation  of  this  theory  of  per- 
sonal identity  according  to  which  the  experiences  of  an 
individual  are  one  if  they  illustrate,  embody,  or  unfold  a 
single  idea;  if  they  all  contribute  something  to  his  unique 
and  determinate  destiny.  Identity  in  the  different  moments 
of  a  man's  experience  is  thus  explained  as  the  possession  by 
all  of  the  same  relation  to  a  certain  thing  —  his  lot  or  fate 
or  "  intelligible  character,"  or  however  else  one  may  desig- 
nate it.    The  result  of  this  theory  is,  nevertheless,  not  dif- 


PERSONAL  IDENTITY  3 1 

ferent  from  that  of  the  last.  No  identity  between  one 
moment  of  experience  and  another  is  guaranteed.  For  many- 
different  things  can  have  the  same  relation  to  a  given  term; 
for  example,  many  brothers  have  the  same  relation  of  son- 
ship  to  the  one  father.  Through  sameness  of  relation  to  a 
given  term  items  are  made  into  a  class,  not  into  an  identity. 
In  the  second  place,  this  theory  presupposes  determinism  — 
the  existence  of  a  set  of  truths  about  the  life  of  each  indi- 
vidual before  he  lives  it.  But,  as  we  shall  show  later,  no  such 
complex  of  truths  pre-exists;  for  all  truth,  so  far  as  individ- 
ual, is  post  factum.  Of  course  the  theory  can  be  conceived  in 
a  less  Platonic  fashion.  One  may  simply  observe  that  every 
hfe  runs  a  unique  course  and  permits  of  a  unique  story. 
Men  have  plans  and  carry  them  out,  and  fulfill  tasks  which 
extend  through  the  years,  thus  giving  unity  to  their  lives. 
Yet  in  the  drama  of  some  lives  the  episodes  are  more  numer- 
ous than  the  acts,  and  there  is  little  or  no  coherence.  And 
this  empirical  form  of  the  theory  comes  in  the  end  to  the 
same  thing  as  the  Platonic:  it  provides  no  real  identity 
between  the  various  moments  of  experience,  but  an  ideal 
unity  at  best.  Finally,  any  one  who  believes  in  the  reality 
and  not  merely  in  the  semblance  of  self  identity  would 
raise  the  following  objection:  the  identity  is  immediate; 
there  need  be  no  consciousness  of  one's  special  function  in 
the  world  or  relation  to  one's  star;  one  may  be  ignorant  of 
one's  appointed  place  and  lot,  yet  know  one's  personal 
sameness  none  the  less. 

Another  type  of  sequential  unity  of  which  much  has  been 
made  is  continuity.    During  waking  experience  the  process 


32  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

of  change  over  a  wide  area  is  very  gradual.  Now  when  this 
feature  is  combined  with  the  preservation  of  approximately 
the  same  specific  form,  the  impression  of  identity  in  anything 
is  very  strong.  If  the  elements  of  an  object  are  gradually 
replaced  by  similar  ones  in  a  similar  arrangement,  every  one 
takes  it  to  be  the  same  thing.  May  this  not  be  the  case  with 
the  self  ?  Well,  if  this  is  all  there  is  to  personal  identity, 
then  personal  identity  is  an  illusion.  In  order  to  make 
identity  real,  there  must  be  some  substantial  core  which  per- 
sists despite  and  in  the  midst  of  continual  change.  And  such 
is  the  identity  to  which  experience  seems  to  testify. 

Another  characteristic  of  experience  which  is  emphasized 
in  connection  with  the  above  as  providing  a  basis  for  the 
idea  of  personal  identity  is  the  causal  relation  between  one 
phase  of  the  mind  and  another.  The  deeds  done  by  the  self 
of  the  present  influence  the  life  of  later  moments;  habits 
formed  in  youth  have  consequences  in  old  age.  Each  new 
moment  of  experience  grows  out  of  the  preceding.  Yet, 
unless  all  causation  involves  identity  between  cause  and 
effect,  this  fact  is  evidence  of  a  unity  within  experience,  but 
not  of  identity.  And  if  identity  were  involved,  it  would 
prove  identity  not  only  between  one  phase  of  a  self  and 
another,  but  also  between  one  self  and  another  self.  For 
a  self's  deeds  are  effective  not  only  in  subsequent  moments 
of  its  own  life,  but  in  other  selves  as  well.  The  causal 
relation  between  one  self  and  another  is  not  so  direct  as 
between  different  moments  of  a  single  self,  yet  is  none 
the  less  real.  Yet  surely  this  consequence  is  to  be  avoided; 
and,  if  so,  the  idea  of  personal  identity  does  not  rest  on 


PERSONAL  IDENTITY  33 

the  causal  relation  between  one  moment  of  experience  and 
another. 

The  two  theories  which  we  shall  examine  last  have  been 
made  famous  through  the  advocacy  of  James.  James's  first 
theory  of  personal  identity  was  that  it  consisted  in  the  iden- 
tity of  the  things  which  the  self  means  or  takes  an  interest 
in.  Thus,  at  different  times  I  see  what  I  suppose  to  be  the 
same  rose.  This  does  not  mean,  we  are  told,  that  my  rose- 
perceptions  are  the  same ;  for  they  are  dead  ineluctably  on 
each  occasion ;  it  means  that  I  perceive  through  my  differ- 
ent experiences  the  same  thing.  Again,  on  different  days 
and  at  different  times  during  the  same  day,  I  think  of  an 
absent  friend;  this  does  not  imply  that  I  have  the  same 
thought,  but  only  that  I  think  of  the  same  object.  It  is 
inaccurate  to  say  that  I  have  the  same  interests,  thoughts 
and  purposes  from  day  to  day;  I  should  rather  say  that  I 
think  of  the  same  things,  take  an  interest  in  the  same 
objects,  purpose  the  same  undertakings.  Experiences  are 
always  unique  and  fleeting;  what  lends  them  their  seeming 
stability  and  identity  is  the  power  which  they  possess  of 
meaning  the  same  things.  Thus  self  identity  is  again  ex- 
plained away  as  an  illusion,  this  time  arising  from  the  sub- 
stitution of  the  identical  objects  meant  by  experiences  for 
the  experiences  themselves.  Yet  this  explanation  has  little 
plausibility.  Why,  if  it  is  true,  do  I  not  identify  myself  with 
historical  individuals  who  devoted  themselves  to  the  same 
problems  which  are  occupying  me  ?  Why  do  I  not  identify 
myself  with  my  boon  companion  or  fellow  worker  ?  Of 
course,  in  a  mystical  moment,  I  may  do  so;  yet  in  such  a 


34  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

moment  I  may  feel  myself  to  be  one  with  the  cuttlefish; 
these  experiences  may  be  of  value  in  throwing  light  on  the 
metaphysical  oneness  of  all  things;  but  they  do  not  illumine 
the  distinctive  identity  of  a  man  with  himself.  And  the 
plain  teaching  of  our  experience  is  falsified  if  we  interpret 
away  the  evident  identity  of  thought,  feeling  and  interest 
into  an  identity  of  their  objects. 

Last,  there  is  the  other  theory  of  James,  that  personal 
identity  consists  in  the  assimilation  or  appropriation  of  past 
experiences  by  the  successive  pulses  of  new  experience. 
Personal  identity  is  thus  made  to  consist  in  self  identifica- 
tion. I  am  identical  with  my  own  past  rather  than  with 
yours  because  I  claim  this  identity;  because  I  take  an 
interest  in  my  own  which  I  cannot  take  in  yours,  and  refer 
my  present  experiences  back  to  it  in  a  unique  fashion.  The 
thought  of  my  past  has  for  me  a  "  warmth  and  intimacy  " 
which  the  past  of  another  person  is  incapable  of  causing, 
however  interesting  it  may  be  to  me.  The  basis  of  this 
identification  of  each  self  with  a  unique  past  is,  of  course, 
memory. 

Every  thinker  is  indebted  to  James  for  his  description  of 
personal  identity,  the  merest  outline  of  which  is  given  above. 
Yet  here,  as  almost  everywhere,  James  has  failed  quite  to 
hit  the  mark.  In  the  first  place,  there  is  no  recognition  of 
personal  identity  as  a  fact  with  an  attempt  to  show  how  it 
is  possible ;  but  merely  another  effort  to  explain  it  away. 
For  let  us  consider  the  various  parts  of  this  description  in 
turn.  A  claim  to  identity  is  not  identity;  unless  supported 
by  facts,  it  is  simply  a  boast  or  a  falsehood.    Insane  people 


PERSONAL  IDENTITY  35 

have  claimed  identity  with  Napoleon  or  Christ.  What  makes 
the  claim  to  identity  substantial  in  one  case  and  foolish  in 
another  ?  Various  things  which  have  already  been  examined, 
such  as  continuity  and  causal  unity,  may  now  be  adduced. 
Yet  if  no  real  identity  is  proved  by  them,  what  right  have 
they  to  be  introduced  as  evidence  ?  Perhaps  the  other  ele- 
ments in  James's  theory  must  also  be  taken  into  account 
—  the  feelings  of  warmth  and  intimacy.  But  does  a  mere 
feeling  of  kinship  and  ownership  prove  or  constitute  kinship 
or  ownership  ?  And  should  we  not  seek  to  cut  it  out  and 
cast  it  from  us  if  it  be  not  a  response  to  fact  ?  As  for  mem- 
ory, if  each  act  is  new,  the  fact  that  it  looks  to  an  identical 
and  unique  past  does  not  confer  any  real  identity  upon  the 
several  remembering  experiences;  it  simply  makes  of  them 
a  unique  class  through  their  relation  to  a  unique  object  — 
the  historical  truth  about,  or  biography  of,  the  individual 
in  question.  The  self  identity  of  the  truth  remembered 
by  supposedly  different  memories  cannot  make  them  iden- 
tical. 

Thus  all  the  theories  of  personal  identity  which  we  have 
examined  are  really  denials  of  it,  plain  efforts  to  explain 
away  our  conviction  of  it.  We  shall  now  attempt  to  do  two 
things:  first  to  refute  the  dogma  upon  which  this  denial  is 
based,  and  second,  to  develop  a  positive  theory  which  shall 
rest  upon,  and  support  the  belief  in,  real  identity. 

The  dogma  upon  which  the  denial  of  personal  identity 
rests  is  that  of  the  volatility  of  experience,  its  incapacity  of 
existing  beyond  the  moment,  a  prejudice  which  has  the  sup- 
port of  most  psychologists  and  philosophers  of  the  present 


36  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

day.  In  contrast,  things  are  supposed  to  possess  a  stuff-like 
nature  which  permits  them  to  remain  the  same  from  moment 
to  moment.  This  alleged  evanescence  of  experience  is  often 
thought  of  as  constituting  one  of  its  points  of  superiority- 
over  matter;  why  I  do  not  know,  unless  volatility  and 
spirituality  are  still  to  be  identified.  Yet,  as  we  shall  insist 
later,  this  contrast  between  experience  and  things  does  not 
exist.  We  know  nothing  of  things  except  as  they  are  given 
to  us  in  our  experience  and  as  we  are  led  to  extend  this 
knowledge  with  the  given  as  a  basis,  which,  however,  can 
lead  us  to  nothing  essentially  different.  Hence  if  experience 
is  by  nature  transient,  things  must  be  transient  also;  if 
there  is  no  real  identity  and  permanence  in  the  one,  there  is 
none  in  the  other.  The  doctrine  of  the  radical  difference 
between  experience  and  things  is  based  on  the  substitution 
of  concepts  like  ion,  atom  and  molecule  for  the  concrete 
thing  experiences  which  are  given  to  us,  a  substitution 
which  has  symboUc  and  practical  value  only,  as  men  of 
science  are  coming  to  realize  with  increasing  clearness. 

Besides  the  substitution  of  symbolic  concepts  for  things, 
there  are  other  reasons,  nearer  to  the  field  of  ordinary  knowl- 
edge, for  the  supposed  contrast  between  experience  and 
things.  One  is  the  apparent  constancy  of  sense  experience 
and  the  evident  flux  of  thoughts,  feelings  and  emotions.  For 
the  common  man,  sense  experience  is  matter  and  all  the 
ideas  which  philosophers  construct  on  the  topic  have  still 
their  roots  in  this  experience.  But,  as  we  know,  sense 
experience  is  a  part  of  the  mind,  so  that  whatever  stability 
is  to  be  credited  to  the  former  must  be  credited  also  to  at 


PERSONAL  IDENTITY  37 

least  that  part  of  the  mind  which  it  composes.  If  there  is  any 
permanence  and  identity  in  the  things  which  we  perceive, 
there  must  be  a  corresponding  permanence  and  identity  in 
our  perceptions  of  them;  for  things  are  partly  given  in 
perception. 

Another  reason  is  the  persistence  of  the  body  during  the 
sleep  and  after  the  death  of  its  possessor.  We  have  already 
adverted  to  this.  But  it  proves  only  the  persistence  and 
identity  of  the  body  experiences  of  the  people  who  observe 
the  body.  To  be  sure,  these  experiences  are,  as  we  shall  try 
to  show,  part  of  the  physical  world;  yet  they  are  none  the 
less  part  of  the  minds  of  those  who  perceive  the  body,  so 
that,  if  they  possess  identity  and  persistence,  the  minds 
do  also.  And  the  fact  that  the  body  and  the  rest  of  the 
physical  world  outlast  the  man  does  not  prove  their  essen- 
tial imperishability,  but  only  their  superior  durability;  and 
does  not  prove  that  mind  has  no  share  in  this  quality;  quite 
the  contrary ;  for  we  come  to  know  of  its  existence  in  things 
through  the  existence  of  things  in  minds. 

Finally,  the  location  of  experiences  in  the  temporal  series 
is  another  reason  for  the  doctrine  which  we  are  examining. 
An  experience  which  is  placed  at  a  given  moment  in  the 
time  series  is  thought  to  be  incapable  of  existing  at  a  dif- 
ferent moment.  Since  all  moments  are  unique,  it  is  argued 
that  all  things,  which,  of  course,  exist  at  some  moment  or 
another,  must  also  be  unique;  that  since  no  moment  can 
recur  or  endure,  the  experiences  which  exist  at  a  given 
moment  cannot  recur  and  endure,  that  is,  cannot  exist  at 
different,  including  subsequent,  moments. 


38  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

I  do  not  think  that  it  is  usually  perceived  that  this  line  of 
argument  would  prove  equally  the  pure  instantaneousness  of 
physical  things.  For  everything  in  the  physical  world  also 
has  location  in  the  time  series.  The  fallacy  of  the  argument 
is  due  to  failure  to  perceive  that  the  uniqueness  of  moments 
does  not  involve  the  uniqueness  of  the  things  which  exist  at 
those  moments.  For  the  same  thing  can  exist  through  many 
moments.  The  facts  of  motion,  rest,  growth  and  change 
leave  no  doubt  about  this.  Of  course  a  thing  does  not  endure 
unchanged;  yet  there  is  identity  despite  the  alteration,  else 
we  should  not  be  able  to  recognize  it  as  the  same.  The  meta- 
physical and  dialectical  difficulties  involved  here  we  shall 
consider  when  we  discuss  the  general  subject  of  time  and 
change.  Now  I  cannot  understand  why  experience  should 
be  in  any  case  different  from  things  in  this  regard.  There 
is  no  logical  principle  which  necessitates  a  difference,  and 
empirically,  experiences  are  found  to  endure,  change  and 
grow  —  all  facts  which  contradict  instantaneousness.  Just 
as  the  same  thing  can  exist  at  different  moments,  either 
remaining  at  rest  or  moving  from  point  to  point,  so  the 
same  experience  can  abide  during  many  instants,  not  wholly 
unchanged,  of  course,  yet  partially  identical. 

This  may  be  admitted  to  be  true  of  much  of  continuous 
waking  experience,  yet  the  intermittence  of  experience 
during  sleep  and  at  other  times  will  be  held  by  most  to 
render  inexact  our  comparison  of  the  psychic  with  the  physi- 
cal. Here  we  touch  the  palmary  argument  of  the  believers 
in  the  volatility  of  experience.  Physical  substance  can  be 
identical  from  moment  to  moment,   it  will   be  claimed, 


PERSONAL  IDENTITY  39 

because  there  is  no  discontinuity  in  its  existence;  but  any 
experience  which  comes  to  be  after  a  lapse  of  time  must  be 
absolutely  new  and  unique;  it  cannot  be  the  same  as  that 
which  preceded  the  interval.  Omitting  for  the  moment  the 
question  whether  the  discontinuity  of  mind  proves  a  radical 
distinction  between  mind  and  matter,  let  us  inquire  whether 
it  is  fatal  to  the  identity  of  mind.  Now  the  supposition  that 
it  is  rests,  I  believe,  on  the  fallacy  about  time  just  referred 
to,  namely,  that  because  moments  are  unique  the  things 
which  occupy  those  moments  are  unique  also.  But  the  fact 
that  the  moment  of  waking  is  different  from  that  of  falling 
asleep  does  not  imply  that  the  waking  experience  is  numeri- 
cally different  from  the  experience  which  was  falling  asleep, 
and  the  interval  of  time  between  does  not  affect  the  situa- 
tion at  all.  This  is  not  perceived  because  of  the  surreptitious 
idea  that  we  have  to  do  here  with  two  distinct  experiences: 
one  the  waking  experience  and  the  other  the  experience 
which  fell  asleep.  Two  things,  of  course,  cannot  be  identical. 
But  the  fact  is  that  there  is  only  one  experience  involved,  the 
present  experience,  which  is  partly  identical  with  the  past. 
We  must  not  think  of  the  present  experience  as  existing  at 
some  point  on  the  line  of  time  and  the  past  one  as  existing  at 
a  different  point  further  back.  In  so  far  as  the  present  ex- 
perience is  identical  with  the  past,  it  exists  both  now  and 
then.  The  root  of  the  trouble  lies  in  thinking  of  time  as  a 
straight  line  having  independent  reality,  whereas  in  fact 
time  is  nothing  except  the  process  of  experience  and  the 
trail  of  truth  which  it  leaves  in  its  wake  —  all  of  which 
we  shall  make  clear  in  our  treatment  of  time. 


40  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

Nevertheless,  the  doubter  will  probably  not  be  satisfied 
with  our  explanations;  he  will  object:  surely  the  past  experi- 
ence did  cease  to  exist;  there  was  a  time  during  which  it  was 
not  at  all;  how  then  can  that  which  once  has  not  been  be 
again  numerically  the  same  as  it  was  before  ?  Well,  why 
not  ?  Experience  is  a  process  of  transformation  and  crea- 
tion; hence,  why  cannot  that  which  was  destroyed  be 
recreated  —  that  which  was  formed  be  formed  anew  ? 
There  is  no  principle  of  thought  or  reality  which  forbids 
this.  And  the  denial  of  it  is  due  to  ignorance  of  the  funda- 
mentally resihent  character  of  experience.  In  the  passage  to 
non-existence  a  thing  does  not  acquire  any  new  character 
which  could  distinguish  it  from  what  it  was;  during  the 
period  of  non-existence  it  undergoes  no  radical  transforma- 
tion —  how  could  it  ?  —  and  there  is  no  new  character 
added  by  emergence  into  existence.  Existence,  as  Kant  said, 
is  no  quality  and  non-existence  equally  not.  The  mere  fact 
that  a  thing  exists  or  does  not  exist  does  not  affect  its  char- 
acter; hence  cannot  afifect  its  sameness  or  difference.  The 
whole  difficulty  roots,  I  repeat,  in  the  supposition  that  the 
present  thing  has  its  double  back  in  the  past;  that  there  are 
two  existences  which,  qua  two,  cannot  be  identical.  But, 
once  more,  a  difference  in  moments  does  not  involve  a  dif- 
ference in  existences;  for  the  same  thing  may  exist  at  many 
different  moments  and  quite  irrespective  of  whether  they  are 
continuous  or  discontinuous.  The  very  same  experience  that 
was  can  exist  anew  at  separate  moments  of  time;  and  these 
reappearances  are  not  dupHcates  of  the  old ;  they  are  just 
the  old  recreated.    When  an  experience  disintegrates,  it 


PERSONAL  IDENTITY  4I 

ceases  to  exist  absolutely;  but  now,  this  very  thing  may  be 
redintegrated;  that  which  ceased  to  exist  may  come  again 
into  existence.  And  its  sameness  is  not  of  mere  quality  as 
distinguished  from  numerical  or  existential  sameness.  If  the 
past  and  the  present  thing  were  two,  as  two  rungs  of  a  ladder 
are  tv/o,  this  would  have  to  be  the  case.  But  the  very  stuff 
of  the  old  is  born  again,  and  when  reborn  is  the  same  past 
thing  which  was  destroyed  and  had  ceased  to  exist  until 
now. 

Thus  far,  however,  we  have  simply  shown  the  baselessness 
of  the  prejudices  against  personal  identity,  but  we  have  not 
shown  it  to  be  real.  We  turn  now  to  the  positive,  construc- 
tive task.  We  must  show  two  things:  first,  that  personal 
identity  exists,  and  second,  how  much  of  the  person  is  iden- 
tical; for  we  admit,  with  every  one  else,  that  a  large  share  of 
experience  is  transient. 

But  first  of  all  we  must  inquire  more  narrowly  into  what 
we  mean  by  identity  and  how  we  can  prove  that  it  exists  in 
the  mind.  By  identity  may  be  meant  the  abstract  concept 
or  meaning,  identity.  This,  however,  like  all  concepts,  is  the 
reflex  or  representative  in  the  mind  of  something  real  in  that 
which  the  mind  knows  and  reflects  upon.  The  application 
of  a  concept  to  anything  is  the  assertion  that  there  exists  in 
the  thing  a  reality  corresponding  to  the  concept,  known  by 
the  concept.  To  verify  a  concept  means  to  bring  the  concept 
and  the  reality  which  it  means  face  to  face,  to  cover  the  one 
with  the  other.  Hence,  just  as  the  concept  blue  means  the 
concrete  blue  of  skies  and  flowers,  means  this  element  in  the 
reality  of  these  things,  and  could  be  formed  only  because 


42  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

there  is  this  real  blue  in  things;  so  identity  means  something 
concrete  and  real  in  the  things  of  which  it  is  asserted.  If  you 
ask  me  what  identity  is,  I  should  have  to  reply  by  showing 
you  an  identical  object,  by  giving  you  an  experience  of 
identity;  just  as,  if  you  were  to  ask  me  what  blue  is,  I  should 
show  you  something  blue,  give  you  a  blue  experience.  For 
identity  is  just  as  simple  and  irreducible  as  blue. 

Identity  must  be  carefully  distinguished  from  similarity. 
Similarity  pertains  to  two  things ;  identity  only  to  one.  Thus 
two  leaves  are  similar,  while  each  is  identical.  Those  things 
are  similar  to  which  the  same  concepts  can  be  appHed,  the 
greater  the  similarity,  the  larger  being  the  number  of  such 
concepts.  Two  individual  things  can  be  in  all  points  similar 
and  yet  not  be  identical.  A  single  thing  can  be  more  or  less 
identical,  which  means  that  some  of  its  elements  are  the 
same,  while  others  are  different.  And,  of  course,  in  so  far  as 
elements  of  a  thing  are  the  same,  the  same  abstract  concepts 
fit  it,  while  in  so  far  as  they  are  different,  other  concepts 
have  to  be  applied.  Hence  only  a  single  individual  can  be 
more  or  less  identical;  different  individuals  can  be  only 
more  or  less  similar.  Moreover,  as  Hegel  taught  us,  identity 
always  implies  difference:  identity  does  not  exist  unless 
some  of  the  elements  of  an  individual  change,  that  is,  be- 
come different.  I  do  not  mean  merely  that  identity  is  not 
noticed  apart  from  difference,  but  that  it  does  not  exist  to  be 
noticed.  In  a  purely  static  world  things  would  not  be  iden- 
tical with  themselves;  they  would  simply  be.  But  this  whole 
question  of  the  relation  of  identity  to  difference  and  to 
change  will  have  to  be  treated  more  at  length  when  we  study 


PERSONAL  IDENTITY  43 

the  general  problem  of  change  and  time;  what  we  have  pre- 
sented here  is  for  the  purpose  of  making  clear  the  premisses 
of  our  discussion  of  personal  identity. 

Such  being  the  general  nature  of  identity,  let  us  inquire 
how  we  can  prove  it  to  pertain  to  experience.  Now  the 
identity  or  non-identity  of  experience  is  in  a  peculiarly 
favorable  position  so  far  as  discovery  is  concerned.  For  it 
does  not  have  to  be  inferred  or  represented,  but  can  be 
actually  found,  since  the  thing  to  which  it  pertains,  namely 
experience,  is  always  and  alone  capable  of  being  found  in  the 
sense  in  which  we  have  been  using  this  term.  Now  I  claim 
that  identity  is  found  in  experience.  Everybody  admits  that 
we  seem  to  find  it,  that  we  have  an  "  impression  "  or  ''  feel- 
ing "  of  it;  I  claim  that  this  "  feeling  "  is  a  fact.  And  I  claim 
that  the  only  reason  why  it  is  not  recognized  to  be  such  is 
because  it  is  judged  to  be  illusory  on  the  grounds  which  we 
have  examined  and  found  to  be  false.  It  is  a  fundamental 
principle  in  the  theory  of  knowledge  that  the  evidence  of 
experience  must  be  accepted  unless  proved  to  be  fallacious 
through  conflict  with  logical  principles.  And  it  seems  as 
perverse  to  doubt  the  identity  within  experience  as  it  would 
be  to  doubt  that  the  sky  which  you  are  looking  at  is  blue. 
For  just  as  the  concept  blue  has  been  derived  from  blue 
experiences  and  so  must  apply  to  the  like,  so  the  meaning 
identity  has  been  acquired  as  a  reflex  of  personal  identity 
experiences.  It  means,  aboriginally,  a  certain  feature  of 
experience  and  so  must  be  true  of  it,  just  as  blue  means 
another  feature  and  so  must  be  true  of  that.  Of  course,  one 
may  deny  that  there  is  identity  within  experience,  just  as 


44  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

one  may  deny  that  the  sky  which  one  is  looking  at  is  blue; 
yet  it  is  impossible  not  to  possess  the  evidence  which  con- 
tradicts these  assertions;  both  the  blue  and  the  identity  are 
in  the  mind. 

And  we  must  insist  that  the  identity  which  we  find  in 
experience  is  not  similarity.  When  we  waken  in  the  morn- 
ing we  find  ourselves  thinking  the  same  thoughts,  harassed 
by  the  same  worries,  ardent  with  the  same  hopes  and  plans. 
You  cannot  be  true  to  your  experience  and  say  that  the 
morrow  has  brought  you  similar  thoughts  and  anxieties  and 
plans.  The  sting  and  the  significance  alike  of  your  experi- 
ence consist  in  their  identity.  You  know  that  you  are  not 
many  selves  strung  together  like  beads  on  a  thread,  new 
each  day  or  hour  or  minute ;  but  one  self,  the  same  through 
all. 

The  task  of  exhibiting  the  range  of  identity  within  the 
mind  is  now  easy.  First  we  have  to  find  the  region  of  mind 
in  which  the  identity  is  given.  The' region  in  which  this  is 
certainly  the  case  is  the  self.  Let  us  seek  the  identity  in 
each  of  the  three  great  classes  of  self  experiences:  thinking, 
interest  and  feeling. 

The  tool  of  thinking  is  the  concept.  The  concept  is  a 
residuum  of  masses  of  similar  experiences.  The  act  of  think- 
ing, judgment,  consists  of  the  application  of  a  concept  to  an 
object.  When  the  object  is  new,  the  application  of  a  concept 
to  it  is  a  novel  event,  through  which  the  concept  is  partly 
changed  and  enriched;  yet  not  wholly  so.  For  when,  for 
example,  I  recognize  a  flower  as  a  flower,  there  is  actually 
present  in  the  concept  vestiges  of  countless  former  flower 


PERSONAL  IDENTITY  45 

experiences  of  which  it  is  a  precipitate;  and  not  only  is  the 
concept  partly  identical  with  much  of  the  past,  but  the 
activity  of  application  is  also  the  same.  Even  when  I  em- 
ploy new  concepts,  it  is  the  one  and  identical  function 
which  energizes;  the  function  is,  of  course,  differentiated; 
yet  it  is  the  same,  nevertheless;  for  there  is  present  in 
each  new  judgment  the  substance  of  all  previous  ones.  And 
this  identity  in  a  function  is  given  in  the  mind.  Suppose 
I  am  recognizing  plants:  I  judge  "rose,"  "lily,"  "sweet 
wilHam,"  each  time  applying  a  different  concept  and  judging 
a  different  object,  yet  I  feel  the  sameness  of  the  activity  of 
thinking  throughout.  This  identity  in  the  apperceptive 
function  is  very  impressive  when  traveling.  During  the 
journey  we  receive  countless  new  impressions,  yet  because 
we  recognize  them  all,  employing  a  single  function  continu- 
ally and  old  concepts  in  the  employment,  the  experience  of 
personal  identity  is  striking  through  the  contrast  with  the 
novelty  of  the  scenes. 

Identity  is  given  with  equal  evidence  in  the  volitional 
experiences.  Take  the  simple  matter  of  interest.  Suppose  I 
start  oft"  to  the  woods  to  study  plants.  During  the  excursion 
I  shall  study  many  specimens ;  the  direction  of  my  interest 
will  therefore  be  constantly  changing;  yet  the  interest  itself 
will  remain  the  same ;  and  the  sameness  will  be  given  in  the 
interest  of  studying,  just  as  the  difference  will  be  given  in  the 
difference  of  the  applications.  And  when  in  the  morning  I 
awaken  with  this  interest  upon  me,  identity  is  present  there 
also;  for  it  is  the  same  interest  which  kept  me  at  my  micro- 
scope until  late  at  night  and  the  same  which  has  given  direc- 


46  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

tion  to  my  whole  life.  And  in  saying  that  the  identity  in  the 
interest  is  given,  I  mean  that  not  only  is  the  interest  actually 
the  same,  but  that  it  is  experienced  as  the  same,  as  familiar, 
and  that  this  sameness  and  familiarity  are  real  identity. 

Since  desire  is  a  complex  affair  involving  not  only  interest 
but  also  the  idea  of  an  object  towards  which  striving  is  di- 
rected, the  identity  there  is  twofold:  on  the  one  hand  within 
the  idea,  and  on  the  other,  within  the  striving.  Thus  the  de- 
sire for  food  involves  an  idea,  the  materials  of  which  are 
probably  older  than  any  other — some  trace  of  infantile  suck- 
ing is  present.  It  is  understood,  of  course,  that  the  intermit- 
tence  of  the  idea  of  food  in  the  mind  does  not  prejudice  its 
real  identity.  The  idea  in  the  new  setting  is,  to  be  sure,  not 
exactly  the  same  as  in  previous  desires,  yet  it  is  fundamen- 
tally so.  And  the  element  of  striving  in  the  desire  is  essen- 
tially the  same ;  it  has  simply  re-emerged  directed  to  a  new 
object  and  adherent  to  a  partly  new  idea.  Again,  the 
awakening  of  love  is,  of  course,  a  novel  experience;  but  each 
new  love,  although  new  as  love  of  a  new  object,  contains  the 
echoes  of  all  old  flames.  The  familiar  instance  of  personal 
identity,  the  experience  of  carrying  out  a  plan,  illustrates 
the  chief  points  in  our  analysis.  A  plan  is  first  conceived:  it 
exists  as  a  striving  directed  to  an  action,  that  is,  adherent  to 
an  idea  which  means  that  action.  Now  when  the  plan  is 
carried  out,  there  is  an  experience  of  identity;  for  there  is 
identity  in  the  experience:  the  plan  enters  bodily  into  the 
action,  the  selfsame  plan  conceived  long  ago  perhaps;  the 
action  exists  in  the  mind  as  the  incarnation  of  the  plan,  as 
containing  it  in  its  substance;   and  the  striving,  the  years- 


PERSONAL  IDENTITY  47 

old  striving,  works  itself  out  and  feels  itself  the  same  in  its 
new  shape  as  fulfilled.  As  for  emotions  and  pleasures,  they 
are  identical  in  correspondence  with  the  identity  in  the  striv- 
ings of  which  they  are  respectively  phases  and  fulfillments. 

The  fact  that  in  our  discussion  of  personal  identity  we 
have  not  yet  referred  to  memory  will  doubtless  impress  some 
readers.  But  this  is  no  oversight.  The  importance  of  mem- 
ory for  personal  identity  has,  I  believe,  been  exaggerated. 
Memory  enters  into  the  identity  of  the  self  experiences  in  so 
far,  chiefly,  as  they  are  connected  with  imagery.  The  activi- 
ties of  desiring  and  thinking  are,  as  we  have  seen,  entwined 
with  images  inherent  in  the  ideas  of  the  things  thought  of  or 
desired.  Originally  all  strivings  and  satisfactions  are  em- 
bedded in  sense  experiences ;  but  the  latter,  in  passing, 
leave  rephcas  of  themselves,  the  store  of  which  is  increased 
by  every  new  experience.  Now  these  traces,  although  con- 
tinually being  lost,  are  never  lost  completely ;  they  are  for- 
ever re-emerging,  and  a  central  core  abides.  They  penetrate 
the  activities,  making  up  the  substance  of  concepts  and 
representative  ideas.  It  is  in  this  way  that  the  activities  of 
thinking  and  desiring  involve  memory.  But  memory  in  the 
sense  of  remembering  past  events  is  not  involved.  For  in 
remembering,  the  images  have  a  meaning;  they  refer  back  to 
past  experiences  of  which  they  are  a  survival.  In  general, 
however,  images  do  not  represent  the  experiences  from 
which  they  have  been  derived,  but  are  employed  away  from 
their  base  to  represent  new  things.  This  is  evidently  true  of 
the  concept;  the  concept  does  not  know  the  experiences 
from  which  its  imaginal  material  came;    it  knows  other 


48  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

things  —  the  things  to  which  it  is  appHed.  The  same  is  true 
of  the  ideas  employed  in  desire ;  their  substance  is  certainly- 
past  experiences,  but  they  do  not  represent  their  originals; 
they  are  given  a  new  intent,  a  direction  to  the  future.  The 
central  peculiarity  of  remembering,  on  the  other  hand,  con- 
sists just  in  the  fact  that  the  image  means  the  experience  of 
which  it  is  itself  a  derivative.  It  is  this  which  gives  to  mem- 
ory its  warmth  and  intimacy,  so  different  from  the  knowl- 
edge of  past  events  not  belonging  to  one's  own  life.  The 
image  and  the  thing  which  it  remembers  are,  of  course,  not 
the  same;  yet  the  image  is  a  child  of  the  thing,  its  dupKcate, 
and  the  old  attitudes  and  feelings  towards  it  are  revived  in 
the  remembering  idea.  In  this  way  the  past  self  is  present  in 
the  self  which  remembers.  But  although  remembering  is  a 
vivid  instance  of  personal  identity,  it  is  by  no  means  the  only 
case  of  it.  During  intense  work,  for  example,  there  may  be 
little  or  no  remembering;  yet,  because  of  the  persistence  of 
purpose  and  the  attitudes  required  by  the  work,  there  is  a 
large  share  of  identity ;  and  this  is  experienced  —  there  is 
a  keen  sense  of  it. 

So  far  we  have  reviewed  two  regions  of  the  mind  in  our 
search  for  identity:  the  activities  which  constitute  the  self, 
and  the  images  with  which  the  activities  are  so  closely  bound 
that  they  are  almost  inseparable  by  analysis  and  are  hardly 
separable  in  reality.  We  have  found  that  real  identity  exists 
in  these  regions.  But  what  of  sense  experience  ?  The  com- 
plete discussion  of  this  will  come  later  when  we  study  the 
nature  of  physical  things.  Yet  there  is  a  phase  of  the  matter 
which  belongs  here.   For,  whether  there  is  identity  in  sensa- 


PERSONAL  IDENTITY  49 

tions  or  not,  there  is  identity  in  certain  concrete  sense  experi- 
ences. In  so  far  as  the  latter  are  perceptions  of  familiar 
things,  they  contain  the  images  of  former  experiences  of 
these  things;  their  familiarity  is  due  largely  to  this  source. 
The  presence  of  these  identical  images  explains  the  seeming 
identity  in  things  really  new;  there  is  real  identity  in  the 
perceptions,  but  the  extent  of  it  is  misunderstood.  Every 
concrete  perception,  even  if  of  a  new  thing,  contains  an  ele- 
ment of  identity;  for,  so  far  as  it  is  recognized  as  being  of  a 
definite  kind,  there  are  present  in  it  revived  images  of  similar 
objects,  on  the  basis  of  which  recognition  takes  place.  Of 
course  the  identity  here  is  an  identity  in  the  images  and  not 
in  the  sensations,  so  that  it  is  really  covered  by  our  discus- 
sions of  the  previous  paragraph;  yet  it  is  so  closely  con- 
nected with  sensation  that  it  may  well  be  said  to  belong  to 
sense  experience.  This  element  of  identity  in  perception 
does  not,  however,  involve  remembering.  For  example, 
every  morning  when  I  see  my  desk  anew,  it  is  familiar  to  me; 
I  find  an  identity  in  it;  yet  I  do  not  think  of  occasions  when 
I  saw  it  on  previous  days;  I  simply  have  in  mind  elements 
of  former  experiences,  the  residua  of  old  memories,  which 
simply  are,  without  representing  the  former  total  experiences 
of  which  they  were  a  part. 

From  our  development  of  the  subject  it  is  clear  that  per- 
sonal identity  can  be  more  or  less.  It  is  usually  greater  be- 
tween phases  of  experience  which  are  near  in  time  than 
between  those  which  are  remote.  The  crises  of  life,  like  the 
changes  from  childhood  to  maturity,  the  entrance  upon  new 
work,  marriage  and  the  birth  of  children,  involve  grave 


50  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

alterations.  The  persistence  or  disturbance  of  the  coenaes- 
thesia  is  supposed  to  be  important;  but  far  more  so  are 
purpose,  interest,  memory.  From  birth  to  death  there  is  a 
continual  acquisition  of  new  experiences;  a  partial  pres- 
ervation of  these  through  the  residua  of  memory;  a  re- 
emergence  of  old  activities;  the  loss  again  of  these;  the 
irreparable  loss  of  some;  until  finally  at  death  the  entire 
structure  disintegrates.  Permanence  and  change,  adven- 
turous seeking  for  the  new  and  a  tragic  holding  on  to  the  old 
or  effort  to  escape  the  old ;  self -making  and  self-mending  — 
such  is  the  life  of  the  mind.  Throughout  there  is  the  thread 
of  identity;  the  old  man  remains  in  some  respects  the 
same  as  the  child.  Yet  the  amount  of  this  identity  varies 
on  different  occasions.  It  is  great  when  a  man  puts  all  his 
emotional  energy  into  some  task  which  requires  the  use  of 
his  whole  past  experience,  the  total  resources  of  his  memory 
and  learning;  then,  as  we  say,  he  is  most  himself;  it  is  little 
when,  in  a  light  moment  of  gaiety,  he  forgets  himself,  feed- 
ing on  new  impressions.  It  is  great  again  in  constancy  and 
continuity  of  work  and  affection,  and  less  in  disloyalties  and 
infidelities. 

We  usually  call  a  man  another  man  when  he  fails  to  recog- 
nize himself  —  when  he  applies  to  his  experience  a  different 
concept  of  self  from  the  one  which  we  have  been  accustomed 
to.  Since  the  material  upon  which  the  concept  of  self  is 
based  is  always  our  plans,  memories,  beliefs,  the  failure  to 
subsume  oneself  under  the  same  concept  of  self  implies  the 
gravest  alterations.  Yet  identity  may  exist  here  as  else- 
where, even  when  not  recognized.   The  application  of  a  dis- 


PERSONAL  IDENTITY  SI 

tinct  concept  of  self  to  the  self  is  an  intellectual  process  of 
identification  precisely  similar  to  any  other,  the  only  dif- 
ference being  that  the  object  recognized  lies  within  the  mind 
and  so  is  the, most  accessible  and  certain  of  all  objects;  yet 
if  the  actual  identity  between  one  phase  of  experience  and 
another  is  not  great,  the  old  concept  may  not  now  seem 
applicable.  There  may  still  be  identity;  experience  may  in 
some  measure  be  familiar  still ;  yet  the  strangeness  may  be 
greater  than  the  familiarity  and  there  may  be  lacking  the 
necessary  power  of  discernment  in  order  to  disentangle  the 
one  from  the  other.  The  poor  man  may  not  know  whether 
he  is  Sam  Jones  or  another;  and  if  he  does  not  know,  how 
can  we  ?  The  changes  m  the  idea  of  oneself  are  a  good  indi- 
cation of  the  transformations  of  one's  experience ;  for  the 
idea  is  built  up  parallel  with  and  as  a  reflex  of  the  process  of 
self -creation  and  preservation  which  is  life. 

Personal  identity  is,  however,  no  more  identical  with  self 
identification  than  blue  is  with  the  concept  of  blue.  The 
most  ordinary  experiences  give  evidence  of  this.  When  we 
waken  in  the  morning  we  feel  ourselves  to  be  the  same  with- 
out any  overt  assimilation  of  the  new  experience  to  the  idea 
of  ourselves;  the  idea  may  not  arise  at  all.  There  are  times, 
as  we  have  seen,  when  the  idea  of  self  is  in  abeyance,  as 
when  we  work  quietly;  yet  there  is  a  sense  of  familiarity 
which  pervades  all  experience  and  is  the  abiding  identity 
within  it.  Yet  when  the  idea  of  self  is  in  mind  we  cannot 
apply  it  to  another  self;  for  its  root  and  substance  is  just 
oneself  and  no  other.  One's  sense  or  feeling  of  identity  with 
one's  past  is  thus  no  illusion  or  empty  boast;  for  it  is  the 


52  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

having  in  mind  of  the  real  identity,  however  small,  between 
one's  present  and  one's  past.  The  false  self  identifications  of 
the  insane  are  not  cases  unfavorable  to  our  view.  For  there 
the  psychic  life  is  so  awry  that  there  is  little  real  identity 
between  the  man's  present  and  his  past;  hence  he  does  not 
recognize  himself.  His  identification  of  himself  with  Napo- 
leon does  not,  of  course,  imply  any  real  identity  between  the 
two  individuals ;  it  is  simply  a  false  application  of  his  con- 
cept of  Napoleon,  the  ineptness  of  which  the  poor  man  has 
not  wit  enough  to  perceive.  Give  to  him  even  a  little  power 
of  discernment  and  he  could  not  make  the  application. 

Let  me  emphasize,  by  way  of  summary,  the  contrast  be- 
tween my  view  of  personal  identity  and  the  ordinary  one. 
Mine  is  a  doctrine  of  the  real  identity  of  the  self  and  the 
recurrence  of  its  elements;  the  other  is  a  doctrine  of  illusion 
and  substitution  of  elements.  According  to  the  latter,  the 
self  is  never  identical  with  its  past,  because  its  elements  are 
continually  dying  away,  yet  is  always  under  the  illusion  of 
identity,  because  the  lost  elements  are  replaced  by  similar 
ones.  According  to  the  view  of  this  chapter,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  judgment  which  the  self  makes  about  itself  is  a 
true  judgment;  for,  although  its  elements  are  continually 
being  lost,  they  are  found  again ;  they  perish  indeed,  but  not 
without  hope;  their  death  is  often  followed  by  resurrec- 
tion. For  us  also,  the  self  is  a  fragile  thing,  broken  by  its 
environment  and  torn  by  internal  tensions;  yet  for  us,  it  is 
capable  of  mending  itself,  and  with  its  own  fragments. 


CHAPTER  HI 

THE  METAPHYSICS  OF  PERCEPTION 

THE  self,  as  we  observ^ed  in  our  first  chapter,  is  in  con- 
tact with  and  interwoven  in  content.  A  large  part  of 
this  content  is  what  is  ordinarily  called  sensation.  Now  sen- 
sation is  at  least  a  part  of  things.  If  we  lay  aside  all  theories 
of  what  things  really  are  and  consider  them  only  as  they  are 
given  to  us,  we  find  them  a  complex  of  sense  elements.  Take 
the  rose  as  an  example:  the  rose  is  given  to  us  a  group  of 
sense  qualities  —  red,  shapely,  soft,  sweet  smelling.  Of 
course,  all  that  we  mean  by  the  rose  is  not  present  in  sensa- 
tion; there  is  the  part  which  is  not  seen,  and  there  is  the 
prick  of  the  thorns  which  we  carefully  avoid.  Yet  these  lat- 
ter, although  not  really  present  in  sensation,  are  so,  as  it  were 
vicariously,  through  images.  There  is  nothing  of  the  thing 
which  we  ever  find  that  is  not  a  sensation  or  image. 

We  open  our  eyes  and  are  face  to  face  with  things.  In  per- 
ception we  are  in  direct  contact  with  the  physical  world; 
nothing  intervenes.  Perception  is,  first,  a  contact  of  the 
self  with  a  sensuous  reahty,  and  second,  a  representation 
through  idea  of  other  sense  elements  which  might  be  given. 
Some  sensation  is  always  the  nucleus  of  the  perception,  but 
the  larger  part  is  a  meaning.  And  last,  perception  involves 
recognition  —  the  given  sense  elements  are  subsumed  under 
a  concept,  whereby  their  relations  to  other  things,  their 

S3 


54  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

place  in  the  whole,  is  fixed.  Test  this  description  by  the  per- 
ception of  the  rose.  When  you  see  the  rose,  certain  visual 
elements  enter  into  the  already  constituted  whole  of  your 
mind;  they  come  into  contact  with  other  sensations  there, 
with  your  feelings,  interests,  and  thoughts;  forthwith  there 
arise  into  this  whole  images  which  mean  further  rose  ele- 
ments not  given;  finally,  the  structure  thus  formed  is  a 
familiar,  a  recognized  thing  —  a  rose.  As  a  result  of  this 
process,  the  mind  is  enriched  and  expanded ;  it  has  acquired 
new  elements,  and  part  of  its  old  self  has  been  reborn  — 
sentiments  that  cling  to  roses,  systems  of  botanical  concepts 
revive. 

Although  in  perception  the  self  is  in  direct  contact  with 
things,  they  are  no  part  of  it.  I  find  sense  elements  to  be 
other  than  myself  with  the  same  evidence  that  I  find  the 
identity  of  myself  with  the  activities.  It  is  impossible  to 
argue  this  otherness  away.  Perception  is  a  contact  with  an 
alien  reality  —  a  chance  embrace  of  strangers,  involving  no 
fatal  entanglements.  Look  again  to  the  red  of  the  rose  or 
to  its  shape  and  texture.  They  are  not  you.  And  consider 
how  they  stand  there  self-possessed  and  independent.  They 
have  no  need  of  your  emotion  or  of  your  uncertain  judgment 
and  regard.  You  may  interfere  with,  but  you  cannot  deter- 
mine, the  sense  elements  which  are  the  rose;  they  follow 
after  their  own  nature,  not  after  yours.  You  may  cultivate 
or  neglect,  let  bloom  or  pluck  to  deck  your  chamber;  but 
what  will  ensue  you  will  have  to  learn  from  them ;  you  can- 
not determine  it  for  them.  If  the  rose  is  independent  of  you, 
so  are  you  of  it.    Contact  with  it  may  leave  you  with  a  vivid 


THE  METAPHYSICS  OF  PERCEPTION  55 

image  and  no  less  vivid  emotion,  but  you  will  go  your  way 
much  as  if  you  had  never  found  it  on  your  path. 

There  are,  of  course,  the  familiar  cases  where  this  other- 
ness seems  to  be  overcome.  Yet  it  is  really  never  sur- 
mounted; what  occurs  is  a  union  of  the  self  with  sensation, 
an  involution  of  the  one  in  the  other;  but  union  implies 
difference,  not  identity.  In  the  aesthetic  experience  I  may 
find  myself  mixed  with  the  blue  of  the  painting  or  lost  in  the 
mazes  of  its  lines,  but  the  poignancy  of  the  experience  de- 
pends, as  in  love,  upon  being  intimate  with  something  radi- 
cally other  than  oneself.  Were  the  lines  and  colors  a  part  of 
the  self,  there  would  be  nothing  extraordinary  and  startling 
about  the  experience.  The  apparent  selfness  of  sensation  is 
due  in  every  case  to  the  admixture  of  the  activities,  and  dis- 
appears as  soon  as  they  are  withdrawn.  The  semblance  of 
activity  in  sensation  is  due  to  the  presence  of  the  same  fac- 
tors. Thus  lines  may  vibrate,  colors  may  have  vitaHty  — 
when  emotion  is  felt  into  them.  Perception  is  never,  as  we 
know,  the  mere  existence  of  a  sense  element  in  the  mind;  it 
always  involves,  in  addition,  the  creation  of  a  meaning.  The 
sense  elements  in  perception  are  recognized,  interpreted, 
employed  as  signs;  but  recognition,  interpretation,  the 
signitive  function  are  activities  which  belong  to  the  self. 
Here,  I  believe,  is  the  explanation  of  the  subjective  idealistic 
fallacy  —  it  rests  on  an  insufficient  analysis  of  the  percep- 
tual experience,  on  a  failure  to  distinguish  the  active  from 
the  passive  elements. 

The  theory  that  the  unity  of  mind  is  due  to  a  transcen- 
dental ego  may  also  be  responsible  for  the  belief  that  sensa- 


56  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

tion  is  a  part  of  the  self.  This  we  have  already  disposed  of 
in  our  chapter  on  The  Self  and  the  Mind.  But  let  us  con- 
sider the  matter  anew,  with  especial  reference  to  perception, 
and  let  us  seek  to  get  at  the  facts.  Suppose,  once  more,  I  turn 
my  head  and  see  the  rose.  New  color  elements  will  enter  into 
the  already  constituted  whole  of  the  mind  of  which  the  self 
is  a  part.  What  sort  of  relation  will  be  efifected  between  them 
and  it  ?  Now  I  submit  that  if  we  follow  the  facts  and  not 
some  preconceived  theory  of  them,  we  can  best  describe  the 
relation  as  an  adjunction,  entrance,  contact,  implying  by  the 
use  of  these  terms,  (i)  that  the  new  elements  come  from 
without  the  mind,  not  from  within ;  (2)  that  there  is  nothing 
within  the  mind  that  can  explain  their  nature;  (3)  that 
they  come  as  strangers,  possessed  of  that  otherness  upon 
which  we  have  already  laid  emphasis,  possessed  besides  of 
their  own  individuality  and  identity;  (4)  that  the  already 
constituted  whole  of  mind  has  no  need  of  them,  for  when  I 
turn  my  head  away  and  they  leave  the  mind,  it  continues  to 
exist  without  any  large  alteration. 

Of  course,  as  I  linger  to  look  at  the  rose,  its  relation  to  the 
self  becomes  more  intimate;  it  had  already  awakened  the 
activities  of  recognition  and  interpretation ;  now  it  becomes 
suffused  with  emotion  and  interest;  it  passes  into  the  sub- 
stance of  the  self.  But  the  primary  relation  is  adjunction, 
contact;  upon  this  is  based  the  more  interior  relations.  And 
no  matter  how  closely  the  activities  may  twine  about  the 
sense  elements  of  the  rose,  the  latter  retain  their  funda- 
mental otherness  and  their  own  individuality  and  sub- 
sistence. 


THE  METAPHYSICS  OF  PERCEPTION  S7 

Again,  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that  a  sense  element  can 
come  into  contact  with  the  self  and  not,  in  some  fashion, 
transform  it.  The  modification  of  the  self  of  the  moment 
may  indeed  be  very  profound.  Not  only  are  certain  activi- 
ties, like  recognition  and  interest,  immediately  and  almost 
always  evoked,  thus  expanding  the  self,  but  its  whole  pattern 
may  be  altered;  certain  elements  will  be  driven  out,  while 
others  will  acquire  a  new  prominence.  And  the  change  is  not 
wholly  one-sided,  confined  to  the  self  alone;  it  affects  the 
perceived  sense  elements  as  well.  The  clearness  or  unclear- 
ness  of  sense  elements  is  a  character  which  accrues  to  them 
only  as  elements  of  mind ;  their  suffusion  with  images  effects 
other  transformations.  For  example,  through  the  connection 
of  the  visual  elements  with  the  images  which  mean  the  re- 
lated touch  object,  the  former  may  acquire  some  of  the  size 
of  the  latter  —  the  man  whom  I  see  far  off  may  seem  to  be  as 
large  as  if  I  were  close  to  him ;  or  the  blue  in  the  picture  may 
seem  to  be  cold  through  the  association  of  images  of  cold. 
But  these  changes  do  not  involve  any  loss  of  identity,  or 
dependence  on  the  self. 

Since  perception  is  a  contact  of  the  self  with  sense  ele- 
ments, the  association  to  them  of  memories,  judgments  and 
feelings,  and  since  this  relation  is  of  the  character  described, 
it  is  obvious  that  things  do  not  depend  for  their  existence  on 
perception.  Sensations  must  first  exist  before  they  can  be 
perceived.  Yet,  although  independent  of  perception,  sensa- 
tions are  not  independent  of  the  body.  For  example,  the 
quality  and  form  of  visual  sensations  depend  upon  the 
structure  of  the  eye.    The  failure  to  distinguish  the  depend- 


58  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

ence  of  sensations  on  the  body  from  dependence  on  percep- 
tion is  one  of  the  chief  reasons,  I  believe,  why  so  little  has 
been  accomplished  towards  clearing  up  these  problems. 
Yet  the  confusion  is  a  natural  one,  since  the  perception  of 
a  sense  element  is  also  dependent  on  the  body  —  although 
upon  a  different  part  —  and  is  nearly  simultaneous  with  the 
existence  of  the  element. 

The  partial  control  which  the  self  may  exert  over  sensa- 
tions may  also  be  mistaken  for  dependence  on  perception. 
For  in  so  far  as  the  self  has  control  over  the  body,  it  may 
co-operate  in  determining  the  existence  of  sensations.  For 
example,  by  directing  the  adjustment  of  the  sense  organs,  our 
interests  are  factors  in  the  determination  of  the  existence 
and  course  of  visual,  auditory  and  tactile  sensations.  But 
this  is  not  a  determination  by  perception.  For,  even  in  these 
cases,  the  sensations  are  first  created  through  the  sensory 
process  before  they  are  perceived.  Perception  —  the  con- 
tact of  sensations  with  feelings  and  ideas  —  is  an  event 
following  upon,  but  not  determinative  of,  their  existence. 

Obviously,  while  sensations  are  dependent  upon  the  body, 
they  are  not  created  by  it.  If  I  close  my  eye,  visual  sensa- 
tions disappear;  but  the  mere  existence  of  the  eye  will  not 
serve  to  produce  color.  And  there  are  functional  relations 
between  sensations  which,  although  the  body  is  always  in- 
volved as  a  third  party,  cannot  be  explained  in  terms  of  the 
body  alone.  For  example,  if  I  put  a  red  shade  on  my  lamp, 
the  hue  of  all  the  colors  in  my  room  will  be  changed.  More- 
over, the  body  itself  —  which  is  also  a  complex  of  sensations 
—  is  functionally  related  to  other  sense  elements.    It,  too, 


THE  METAPHYSICS  OF  PERCEPTION  59 

for  example,  would  change  its  hue  along  with  all  the  other 
things  in  the  room.  The  empirical  physical  world  consists  of 
masses  of  sense  elements  functionally  related  among  them- 
selves, and  above  all  to  one  part  of  themselves,  bodies.  By 
functional  relation  in  this  connection  I  mean  that  a  change 
of  one  is  correlated  with  a  change  in  another,  or  that  the 
appearance  of  one  is  sequent  upon  the  appearance  of 
another.   Nothing  else  is  given. 

The  first  objection  commonly  raised  against  a  theory  such 
as  this  is  that  it  makes  impossible  the  simultaneous  per- 
ception by  two  or  more  people  of  the  same  thing.  For  how, 
if  sensations,  which  are  never  the  same  in  different  minds, 
are  the  things  perceived,  is  common  perception  possible  ? 
For  example,  the  electric  light  globe  in  my  mind  is  elliptical 
in  shape,  while  in  yours  it  is  circular.  Or  to  me  who  am  near, 
the  meadow  is  green,  while  to  you  who  are  far  away,  it  is 
violet.  How  can  the  same  thing  be  at  once  violet  and  green, 
or  elliptical  and  round  ? 

The  removal  of  this  objection  depends  upon  the  realiza- 
tion that  it  is  based  upon  a  preconceived  theory  of  things. 
It  is  assumed,  namely,  that  the  things  which  we  see  can  have 
only  one  size,  shape,  and  color  at  a  given  moment;  when,  as 
a  matter  of  observation,  they  possess  a  multitude  of  these, 
as  many  as  are  seen  from  any  so-called  point  of  view.  The 
globe  is  at  once  elliptical  and  round,  the  meadow  is  at  once 
violet  and  green,  if  it  is  seen  so.  All  the  so-called  appear- 
ances of  a  thing  are  real.  But  there  are  usually  one  or  more 
particular  aspects,  those  where  the  thing  can  be  handled, 
where  it  can  be  brought  into  bodily  contact  with  the  organ- 


6o  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

ism,  which,  because  of  their  practical  importance,  are  empha- 
sized over  all  the  others  and  judged  real,  while  the  rest  are 
degraded  to  the  rank  of  mere  subjective  signs  of  these. ^ 
Thus,  in  order  to  adjust  the  globe,  one  has  to  act  through 
tactile  circular  sensations,  but  not  through  visual  elliptical 
ones;  and,  in  order  to  pluck  the  leaf,  one  has  to  act  through 
green  touch  sensations  rather  than  through  violet  ones; 
hence,  the  former  are  viewed  as  real  qualities  of  the  object, 
of  which  the  latter  are  thought  to  be  mere  appearances.  But 
surely  all  sensations  are  equally  real  while  they  last;  practi- 
cal importance  may  determine  our  interest  in  them,  but  it 
cannot  determine  their  reality.  Things  have  no  such 
simplicity  as  common  sense  supposes. 

We  are  evidently  brought  face  to  face  with  the  general 
problem  of  the  identity  and  unity  of  things.  To  take  the 
former  first :  The  identity  of  things  belongs,  in  the  first  place, 
to  their  sensuous  substance.  Sensations  shift  and  disappear ; 
yet  they  also  reappear  and  abide.  The  red  of  the  rose  is  the 
same  red  today  as  it  was  yesterday,  despite  its  intermittence 
over  night.  In  our  discussion  of  personal  identity,  we  showed 
that  an  activity  may  be  destroyed,  and  yet  reborn  the 
same.  This  is  equally  true  of  a  sensation.  When  it  re- 
emerges,  it  is  changed,  but  identity  may  exist  despite  dif- 
ference. There  is,  indeed,  no  substance  in  things  except  that 
of  their  sensuous  qualities.  This  is  true  of  all  sensations;  of  a 
sound  or  a  perfume.  The  vibratory,  and  other  such  facts 
which  men  of  science  regard  as  the  substance  behind  sensa- 
tion are  only  further  sensuous  elements  of  the  whole,  or  else 

1  See  James:  Principles  of  Psychology,  Chapters  xx  and  xxi. 


THE  METAPHYSICS  OF  PERCEPTION  6 1 

mere  symbolic  images  with  only  a  subjective  and  pragmatic 
value.  The  existence  of  any  sensation  depends,  without 
doubt,  upon  the  co-operation  of  countless  facts.  Yet  every 
sensation  is  real  while  it  lasts  and  may  come  again  after  it 
has  disappeared. 

We  cannot,  therefore,  be  said  to  perceive  the  same  thing 
in  the  sense  that  we  are  at  any  moment  in  contact  with  the 
same  sense  elements.  The  sensory  content  of  people's  minds 
in  perception  is  always  different;  in  your  mind  the  globe  is 
circular,  in  mine  it  is  elliptical.  Only  if  you  could  occupy 
my  position  in  space  and  possess  my  organs  of  vision  could 
you  have  in  mind  the  same  sensations  that  I  have.  Never- 
theless, we  rightly  feel  that  we  are  perceiving  the  same  thing ; 
for  we  are  in  contact  with  parts  of  the  same  complex  object. 
We  perceive  the  same  thing,  despite  the  differences  in  the 
contents  of  our  minds,  just  a^  we  sit  in  the  same  room 
although  we  occupy  different  chairs. 

Although  this  identity  in  the  stuff  of  things  is  their  real 
identity,  we  often  treat  things  which  are  merely  similar  as  if 
they  were  the  same.  For  example,  when  a  number  of  people 
attend  the  performance  of  a  sjTnphony,  we  say  that  they 
hear  "  the  same  symphony."  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  the 
sound  contents  of  their  minds  are  different  —  different,  for 
example,  in  intensity  and  timbre,  according  to  the  positions 
in  the  hall  occupied  by  the  auditors,  and  other  factors.  It  is 
possible  for  the  same  individual  sound  to  be  now  intense, 
now  weak,  but  it  is  not  possible  for  the  same  sound  to  be  at 
once  intense  and  weak.  The  various  people  in  the  hall  are 
therefore  in  contact  with  different  individual  sounds,  similar 


62  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

in  many  ways,  yet  numerically  different.  Is  there  then  no 
sense  in  saying  that  they  hear  the  same  symphony?  It  all 
depends  upon  what  we  mean  by  the  symphony.  If  we  mean 
by  the  symphony  a  universal,  a  type,  then  it  is  true  that  they 
all  hear  the  same  symphony.  The  same  musical  composition, 
in  this  sense,  can  be  heard  simultaneously  in  New  York  and 
Boston  by  many  different  people.  But  the  identical  object 
which  they  perceive  is  not  a  physical  thing  at  all,  but,  I 
repeat,  an  ideal  or  type.  Here,  as  always,  the  perception 
of  the  ideal  and  typical  takes  place  through  the  concrete 
and  individual;  the  same  universal  symphony  is  perceived 
through  the  similar,  but  numerically  different,  sounds  in  the 
minds  of  the  various  auditors. 

Now,  in  large  measure,  the  sameness  of  the  object  even 
in  ordinary  perception  is  of  just  this  nature.  When  we  say 
that  we  perceive  the  same  rose,  we  do  not  so  much  mean  that 
we  are  in  contact  with  parts  of  a  single  region  of  the  physical 
world  as  that  we  are  undergoing  experiences  of  the  same 
type.  We  are  seeing  the  "  same  rose  "  just  as  we  are  "  hav- 
ing the  same  pleasure  "  in  it.  The  contents  of  our  minds  are 
numerically  different;  yet  they  are  similar  in  various  ways, 
and  adherent  to  them  are  thoughts  which  mean  a  sort  of 
typical  rose,  which  is  the  schematic  invariant  of  all  the 
concrete  phenomena  of  the  rose.  Visual  perception  is  a 
process  of  at  least  twofold  complexity:  first,  a  contact 
with  some  of  the  visual  elements  of  the  thing;  second,  a 
representation  through  idea  of  the  type  to  which  the  thing 
belongs.  Even  the  common  thing  perceived  is,  I  repeat, 
largely  a   type,  but  a   type   functioning   through   actual 


THE  METAPHYSICS  OF  PERCEPTION  63 

aspects  of  the  concrete  thing  with  which  the  self  is  in 
contact. 

It  may  be  objected  to  this  comparison  of  ordinary  per- 
ception with  aesthetic  perception  that,  in  the  latter,  the  type 
or  ideal  is  determined  by  aesthetic  feelings  which  can  acquire 
permanence  through  record  in  a  score;  whereas,  in  ordinary 
perception,  there  are  no  values  through  which  a  type  could 
be  established.  There  is  no  standard  for  rose  —  or  chair  — 
experiences,  it  may  be  said.  Yet,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  where- 
ever  there  is  identification,  there  is  the  thought  of  a  t>pe,  and 
memory  plays  there  precisely  the  recording  role  of  a  score ; 
and  ordinary  perceptions  are  full  of  the  values  of  use  and 
curiosity.  There  may  be  a  difference  of  precision  in  the  tw^o 
cases,  but  only  as  a  matter  of  degree;  and,  in  the  case  of  the 
sharply  defined  types  of  scientific  perception,  the  advantage 
is  probably  with  the  non-aesthetic.  No  one  knows  what  the 
absolutely  ideal  and  t>^ical  performance  of  the  symphony 
is;  so,  similarly,  no  one  ever  gets  a  complete  perception  of  a 
thing,  ever  comes  into  real  or,  through  representation,  into 
vicarious  contact  with  its  infinite  possibilities  of  sensation. 
What  our  senses  allow  us  to  get  into  touch  with  or  our 
imagination  to  picture  is  only  a  fragment.  Nevertheless,  in 
our  dealings  with  common  things  we  have  pretty  definite 
ideas  of  some  of  the  possibilities  of  human  experience,  and 
the  man  of  science  has  ideas  of  the  highest  precision ;  such 
ideas  represent  the  types  of  things.  The  elaboration  of  these 
ideas,  in  order  to  make  them  more  adequate  to  the  possibili- 
ties of  human  experience,  is  exactly  the  task  of  natural 
science. 


64  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

The  extent  to  which  perception  is  more  than  the  mere  pos- 
session in  the  mind  of  parts  of  existing  things,  and  contains 
representative  elements,  is  plain  when  we  consider  how  large 
a  part  is  played  by  memory  and  expectation.  When  I  per- 
ceive an  electric  light  I  inevitably  think  of  lighting  it  — 
that  is,  I  represent  a  non-existent  future  action  upon  it  and 
the  sensations  which  would  result;  if  I  am  an  electrician,  I 
may  think  of  the  manufacture  of  it,  that  is,  of  its  non-exist- 
ent past  history.  Such  memories  and  expectations  enter  into 
the  thought  of  the  t3^e  of  things.  The  type  always  extends 
beyond  the  present,  back  into  the  past  and  forward  into  the 
future.  The  type  of  things  is  a  complex  of  true  propositions 
about  their  present,  past  and  future  being.  The  metaphysi- 
cal status  of  these  types  will  be  the  topic  of  a  future  chapter; 
it  is  necessary  at  this  point  only  to  call  attention  to  the  large 
share  which  they  have  in  the  object  of  perception.  The 
object  of  perception  is  never  so  much  the  actual  physical 
thing  as  the  truth  about  the  thing. 

The  recognition  of  the  importance  of  the  type  in  percep- 
tion has  given  rise  to  the  idea  that  perception  is  largely  a 
falsification  of  the  reality  of  things  —  a  view  maintained  by 
a  thinker  whose  doctrine  of  perception  is  very  much  like  our 
own.  But  this  is  a  misrepresentation  of  the  situation.  It  is, 
indeed,  true  that  the  type  is  no  part  of  the  sensuous  reality 
of  things.  It  is  also  true  that  our  representations  of  the 
type  are  largely  determined  by  practical  motives.  We 
represent  of  the  total  truth  about  things  only  so  much  as 
bears  upon  our  life.  Yet  the  partiality  of  our  representa- 
tions, the  human  limitations  of  them,  do  not  make  them 


THE  METAPHYSICS  OF  PERCEPTION  65 

necessarily  deceitful.  It  is,  of  course,  easy  to  mistake  the 
part  for  the  whole,  especially  where  our  human  conceits  are 
concerned ;  but  the  intent  of  partial  knowledge  is  not  to  take 
itself  for  omniscience.  It  is  also  true  that  a  large  part  of 
scientific  knowledge  is  expressed  in  purely  symbolic  terms 
or  in  the  form  of  mechanical  images  to  which  no  sensuous 
reality  literally  corresponds.  But  it  is  always  possible  to 
translate  these  symbols  into  the  sensuous  experience  which 
is  the  real  object  represented.  The  unwary,  it  must  be  ad- 
mitted, are  often  led  astray  into  thinking  that  the  s3mibols 
picture  real  objects;  but  once  this  error  is  corrected,  the 
genuine  metaphysical  truth  embodied  in  scientific  formulas 
and  concepts  becomes  patent. 

The  theory  of  things  which  we  have  been  advocating 
requires  the  abandonment  of  the  common  sense  notion  of 
their  unity.  This  notion  has  been  developed  by  a  process  of 
exclusion  and  simplification,  with  the  method  of  which  we 
have  already  become  familiar.  Certain  aspects  or  parts  of 
the  thing  are  rejected  because  they  are  practically  irrelevant, 
leaving  a  relatively  simple  remainder  more  easily  handled 
by  the  mind.  But,  as  we  have  seen,  the  thing  owns  all  of  its 
aspects,  every  shape,  color,  size  or  other  quality  that  can  be 
perceived.  All  the  supposed  conflicts  among  them  disappear 
as  soon  as  we  abandon  the  notion  of  the  superior  reality  of 
some  over  the  others.  They  are  all  on  the  same  level,  all 
parts  of  the  thing,  falling  easily  within  its  wide  domain. 

But  if  the  thing  is  so  hospitable  and  inclusive,  in  what 
sense  is  it  one  at  all  ?  Ten  people  in  the  room  who  look  at 
the  electric  light  globe  have  in  mind  ten  different  complexes 


6G  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

of  visual  sensations;  how  then  can  they  belong  to  the  one 
object  ?  The  essential  unity  is  that  of  causality.  A  single 
act  or  process  will  make  them  all  disappear  or  reappear. 
To  be  sure,  one  of  them  may  disappear  without  affecting 
the  existence  of  the  others,  as  when,  for  example,  I  close  my 
eyes;  yet  opening  my  eyes  will  not  restore  my  globe,  nor 
will  open  eyes  in  themselves  guarantee  the  existence  of  the 
other  nine  globes.  The  existence  of  any  sensation  depends 
upon  two  sets  of  conditions  —  one  within  the  body,  another 
outside  of  the  body.  The  former  set  is  a  prerequisite  for 
the  existence  of  the  sensation  in  the  single  mind ;  the  latter 
is  a  co-operating  cause  of  all  the  sensations  in  the  different 
minds  which  we  attribute  to  one  thing.  That  there  is  a 
single  determinant  without  the  body  for  all  the  ten  com- 
plexes of  globe  sensations  is  clear  from  the  simultaneity  and 
inclusiveness  of  its  effect  —  all  at  once  and  together  the  sen- 
sations will  disappear  if  some  person  breaks  the  bulb.  A 
thing,  therefore,  consists  of  all  sensations  under  the  control 
of  a  single  determinant  outside  of  the  body.  Or  to  put  the 
matter  the  other  way  round — sensations  belong  to  one  thing 
when  they  are  all  under  a  single  extra-bodily  control. 

There  are,  of  course,  certain  sensations,  such  as  nausea  or 
those  which  come  from  the  joints,  which  seem  not  to  have  the 
doubleness  of  determination  characteristic  of  most  sensa- 
tions, but,  on  the  contrary,  to  be  determined  from  within 
the  body  alone.  Yet  careful  investigation  would  prove 
that  even  in  such  cases  there  is  a  twofold  control,  only 
by  different  determinants  within  the  one  region  of  the 
body. 


THE  METAPHYSICS  OF  PERCEPTION  6/ 

In  talking  about  the  determination  of  sensations  we  are 
readily  led  beyond  the  bounds  of  the  given.  Sensations  are 
given,  but  the  nature  of  that  which  determines  them  outside 
of  the  body  is  certainly  not  given.  Given,  as  we  have  said, 
ar^  only  the  sensations.  Yet,  that  they  are  not  controlled 
wholly  from  within,  is  certainly  given;  it  is  only  the  what  or 
nature  of  this  control  which  is  not  given.  Solely  by  means 
of  hypotheses  can  we  get  any  idea  of  this.  And  the  natural 
hypothesis  to  make  is  the  one  which  has  been  made  so  often, 
and  which  we  shall  defend  later  on,  that  the  control  is  like 
that  which  we  ourselves  exert.  For,  as  we  have  seen,  we  do, 
to  a  certain  extent,  determine  the  course  and  existence  of 
sensations.  I  can  destroy  sensations;  I  can  close  my  eyes 
and  annihilate  a  whole  group  of  them;  I  can  take  bow 
and  violin  and  create  another  group.  In  the  latter 
case  I  determine  sensations  not  only  within  my  own 
mind,  but  in  the  minds  of  others  as  well.  Of  course,  in 
neither  case  am  I  the  sole  determinant  of  what  happens;  for- 
eign controls  must  co-operate.  But  now,  the  hypothesis  is 
precisely  this,  that  the  nature  of  the  co-operant  foreign  con- 
trols is  like  that  which  I  exert  within  my  own  mind,  and  to  a 
certain  extent  within  the  minds  of  other  men.  It  is  some 
purpose  or  interest  which  determines  the  closure  of  the  eyes 
and  the  annihilation  of  the  visual  sensations;  it  is  some  pur- 
pose or  interest  which  determines  the  existence  of  the  musi- 
cal sounds.  And  hence  we  suppose  that,  in  addition  to  our 
own  activities,  co-operating  with,  or  frustrating,  or  acting 
independently  of  them,  there  are  other  activities,  not  ours, 
playing  with  and  determining  the  sensations  in  our  minds. 


68  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

Just  as  with  bow  and  violin,  with  brush  and  canvas,  we 
may  make  music  or  paint  pictures  for  ourselves,  so  —  shall  I 
say  nature  ?  —  sings  for  itself  and  for  us,  too,  in  the  sound 
of  the  brook,  and  paints  pictures  for  itself  and  for  us  in 
every  landscape  that  we  see. 

Does  nature  contain  any  other  sensations  than  those 
which  are  produced  through  the  activities  of  the  body  in 
co-operation  with  foreign  controls  ?  Of  course,  by  the  nature 
of  the  case,  none  other  than  these  can  come  within  the  mind. 
Yet  there  are  good  reasons,  I  believe,  for  thinking  that  there 
are  others.  The  sense  organs,  through  which  the  sensations 
that  we  know  are  determined,  are  special  differentiations  of 
a  material  of  like  nature  with  themselves.  There  is  good 
reason,  therefore,  for  supposing  that  they  mediate  only  part  of 
the  total  number  of  sensations  produced  in  connection  with 
the  body.  Moreover,  the  law  of  continuity  forbids  us  from 
believing  that  our  sense  life  is  a  sudden  development,  that 
it  has  had  no  history  in  the  evolution  of  the  organism. 
If  we  ascribe  sensation  to  the  lower  forms  of  life  which  pos- 
sess no  organs  of  special  sense,  we  must  ascribe  the  same  to 
the  whole  body.  And  the  same  principle  of  continuity  for- 
bids us  from  stopping  here.  The  organism  is  itself  an  out- 
growth of  what  we  call  the  inorganic  world ;  and  consists  of 
exactly  the  same  materials.  Hence,  just  as  we  infer  from 
the  existence  of  the  bodies  of  our  fellow  men  and  of  animals 
to  the  existence  of  their  sensations,  so,  it  seems  to  me,  we  can 
infer  to  the  existence  of  further  sensations  in  nature  from 
those  which  we  actually  perceive.  In  both  cases  we  infer  from 
the  existence  of  sensations  which  we  perceive  to  the  existence 


THE  METAPHYSICS  OF  PERCEPTION  69 

of  those  which  we  do  not  perceive.  From  the  existence  of  an 
eye  —  a  group  of  sensations  in  my  own  mind  —  I  infer  the 
existence  of  visual  sensations  in  the  mind  of  my  fellow. 
Nothing  else  of  his  eye  is  given  to  me  or  real  for  me  except 
my  own  sensations.  Well,  similarly,  I  have  given  countless 
other  sensations  —  the  body  of  nature,  let  me  call  them  — 
and  from  these,  I  think  I  can  infer  others.  Only  the  tiniest 
part  of  the  sense  world  is,  I  believe,  given  to  us  in  percep- 
tion. What  the  rest  is  like,  we,  to  be  sure,  cannot  know.  Yet 
we  are  justified,  I  think,  in  judging  the  whole  by  the  part. 
The  visual  sensations  which  enter  into  the  mind  depend,  of 
course,  upon  the  eye;  yet  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  when 
the  man  of  science  talks  about  light  he  means  something 
more  than  a  symbol  for  possible  human  sensations  —  that 
his  vibrations  in  the  aether  correspond  with  actual  sensa- 
tions like  our  own.  Nature  is,  I  think,  full  of  warmth  and 
cold,  pressures  and  touches  and  colors  unperceived  by  man, 
and  doubtless  full  also  of  countless  other  sensations  of  a  kind 
unlike  anything  which  we  know. 

The  hospitality  which  we  ascribe  to  the  thing  destroys  its 
reputed  seclusion  and  involves  a  complexity  and  neighborli- 
ness  undreamed  of  by  common  sense.  Since  a  thing  owns 
every  aspect  equally,  it  does  not  have  the  remoteness  from 
other  things  which  is  one  of  the  chief  grounds  upon  which 
common  sense  accords  to  it  a  simple  and  separate  existence. 
The  sun,  for  example,  is  not  only  where  science  locates  it, 
but  also  in  the  intervening  space,  and  at  the  point  where  I 
see  it  —  at  the  eye.  One  may,  of  course,  distinguish  what  is 
called  the  real  sun  from  these  visual  phenomena;  but,  how- 


JO  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

ever  useful  this  procedure  may  be  practically,  it  cannot  be 
done  without  question  metaphysically.  On  the  other  hand, 
in  view  of  the  actual  solidarity  of  things,  one  may  refuse  to 
distinguish  between  one  thing  and  another.  There  is,  it  may 
be  said,  only  a  single  thing,  the  universe;  what  are  called 
separate  things  are  only  parts  of  this,  isolated  by  us  for  rea- 
sons chiefly  practical.  And  there  is  truth  in  this  view,  which 
science,  and  not  metaphysics,  has  been  teaching  us  for  the 
last  century.  There  is  a  mutual  dependence  of  sense  quali- 
ties making  of  the  physical  world  a  single  whole.  Neverthe- 
less, there  are  grounds  other  than  practical  for  distinguishing 
between  one  part  and  another.  There  is  a  differential  dis- 
tribution of  qualities;  here  it  is  hot,  there  cold;  here  a  sweet 
odor,  there  a  sour;  red  and  blue  are  not  on  the  same,  but  on 
different  points.  Such  regional  differences  in  the  distri- 
bution of  sensations  are  real.  Moreover,  there  is  greater 
solidarity  between  the  causal  determination  of  certain  parts 
than  of  others.  There  is  a  greater  solidarity  between  the 
elements  of  one  organic  body,  for  example,  than  between 
those  of  two ;  a  change  is  more  immediately  and  pervasively 
effective  within  the  single  body  than  between  the  two.  This 
objective  unification  of  things  is  the  basis  of  the  subjective 
unification  of  them  through  the  purposes  which  they  serve. 
The  difference  between  things  is  a  difference  in  the  qualita- 
tive pattern  and  causal  interdependence  of  the  elements  of 
the  whole.  In  accordance  with  its  own  harmonic  laws,  the 
universe  composes  sense  elements  in  multitudinous  figures. 
Doubtless,  there  is  a  basal  and  pervasive  rhythm;  yet,  just 
as  we  rightly  distinguish  the  different  phrases  in  a  musical 


THE  METAPHYSICS  OF  PERCEPTION  J I 

composition,  so  we  are  justified  in  distinguishing  the  many 
parts  of  the  one  whole.  In  our  chapter  on  space  we  shall 
study  again,  for  a  final  statement,  the  individuality  and 
unity  of  things. 

The  doctrine  of  this  chapter  should  recommend  itself  not 
only  to  the  reason,  but  to  the  emotions.  For  what  is  the 
thing  which  you  love  and  cherish  ?  It  is  not  a  heap  of  ions 
which  you  have  never  seen ;  it  is  no  bit  of  extension  robbed 
of  color  and  odor;  it  is  not  even  some  possessor  of  soul-Ufe 
too  simple  for  sympathy  with  your  human  affections.  It  is 
the  phenomenal  thing  which  you  love;  the  possessor  of 
color  and  outline  and  odor;  the  appearing  thing  which  you 
can  see  and  touch  and  smell.  The  famihar  haunt  that  you 
love  is  not  some  practical  or  scientific  reahty  behind  that 
which  has  given  itself  to  your  eye  and  hand,  but  the  thou- 
sand views  and  perspectives  with  their  every  shadow  and 
change  of  hue.  These  you  love;  these  you  find  fair.  The 
dramatic  background  of  our  human  life,  that  which  enters 
into  emotion,  finds  record  in  painting  and  poem  and  history, 
is  the  given  thing,  the  so-called  appearance  —  which  is  the 
reality.  And  if,  as  in  common  sense,  you  admit  the  validity 
of  the  practical  motives  in  determining  the  criterion  of 
reahty,  why  should  you  not  admit  to  at  least  an  equal  right 
the  interests  of  affection  and  beauty  ? 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  MIND  AND  BODY 

IN  our  last  chapter  we  studied  the  relation  of  the  self  to  the 
external  world  given  in  perception.  Another,  and  to  most 
minds,  more  striking  relation  is  that  of  the  self  to  the  body. 
That  we  should  find  ourselves  in  the  midst  of  a  bright  and 
sounding  and  odorous  reality,  immersed  in  it,  gathering 
from  it  satisfaction  and  sorrow,  becomes  strange  to  the  re- 
flective thought  of  certain  moods,  but  stranger  still  seems 
the  fact  that  the  presence  of  the  self  in  the  world  should  be 
conditioned  by  one  small  fact  in  that  world  —  the  body. 

Let  us  approach  the  problem  through  an  examination  of 
the  oldest  theory  in  the  field,  one  which  today  has  acquired 
a  new  prominence  —  the  instrumental  theory. 

According  to  this  theory,  the  body  is  the  tool  of  the  mind. 
In  sawing  wood,  I  make  use  of  a  saw  —  and  of  arm  and 
hand ;  the  latter,  from  the  point  of  view  of  the  realization  of 
my  purpose,  are  as  much  pure  instrument  as  the  former. 
Or  in  the  manufacture  of  anything,  when  one's  interest  is 
fixed  upon  the  material  and  the  purpose  to  be  achieved 
through  it,  the  body  which  manipulates  seems  like  any  tool 
which  one  might  employ.  Again,  in  all  desire,  which  involves 
the  separation  of  the  idea  of  the  end  from  the  fact  desired, 
the  body  may  easily  be  regarded  as  just  the  first  link  in  a 
chain  of  means  and  instruments  interv^ening.  Not  only  the 
muscular  apparatus,  but  the  sense  organs  also  appear  to  be 

72 


THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  MIND  AND  BODY      73 

interpretable  in  this  way:  if  I  have  the  desire  to  hear  or  see 
something,  eye  and  ear  look  like  mere  means  to  the  end  of 
these  experiences.  Finally,  in  the  realms  of  memory,  imagi- 
nation and  thought,  I  seem  to  live  independent  both  of  the 
body  and  of  sensation;  yet  when  I  desire  contact  with 
the  sense  world,  the  body  is  there  for  this  end;  just  as  the 
musician,  tiring  of  the  music  which  he  hears  in  his  dreams, 
may  employ  a  lyre  upon  which  to  execute  heard  melodies. 

Yet  if  this  be  the  relation  of  the  body  to  the  self,  the  query 
is  inevitable  — ■  why  is  the  body  necessary  at  all  ?  If  the 
soul  can  manipulate  the  body  to  its  ends,  why  cannot  it 
make  use  of  things  with  equal  directness  and  without  the 
intervention  of  the  body  ?  This  question  arises  not  only  in 
the  minds  of  objectors  to  the  theory,  but  in  the  minds  of  its 
advocates  also.  The  body  seems  to  be  a  pure  superfluity. 
The  possibility  of  a  naked  action  upon  matter  and  an  exist- 
ence independent  of  the  body  haunts  them  in  their  dreams. 
And  so  this  conception,  instead  of  making  the  relationship 
more  perspicuous,  excites  a  new  wonder. 

An  indispensable  tool  would  seem  to  be  something  more 
than  a  mere  tool.  We  know  of  none  other  that  cannot  be 
duplicated.  A  tool  which  another  cannot  use  is  again  a 
unique  instrument.  Why,  we  ask,  is  this  particular  soul 
tied  to  this  particular  body  on  pain  of  inefficacy  ?  For  many 
of  our  purposes  the  body  of  another  would  be  a  fitter  instru- 
ment than  our  own,  why,  then,  if  it  be  a  mere  tool,  can  we  not 
use  it  ?  And,  last,  a  tool  is  something  which  the  user  makes; 
but  no  man  has  made  his  body.  The  individual  is  endowed 
at  birth  with  structures  preformed  for  the  exercise  of  func- 


74  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

tion.  As  the  function  is  exercised  these  structures  develop, 
the  development  being  correlated  with  the  refinement  of  the 
former.  But  never  does  the  function  manufacture  its  organs. 
Only  recently  are  we  beginning  to  understand  the  mechan- 
ism of  the  body;  yet  with  all  our  knowledge  we  are  inca- 
pable of  constructing  its  simplest  forms.  It  is  absurd, 
therefore,  to  suppose  that,  previous  to  the  acquirement  of 
this  knowledge,  previous  even  to  birth,  we  could  have  con- 
structed it.  Plainly  then,  if  the  soul  has  built  up  the  body, 
the  soul  must  be  a  larger  and  wiser  being  than  the  man  whom 
we  know.  And  by  the  soul  as  a  builder  is  usually  meant  such 
a  wiser  force.  This  force,  we  are  told,  constructs  the  body 
for  the  use  of  its  offspring,  responding  always  to  the  latter's 
needs.  Hence,  the  individual,  as  we  know  him,  always  has 
instruments  ready  at  his  service.  We  sometimes  find,  al- 
ready constructed  by  another,  just  the  tool  that  we  require. 
The  relation  between  soul  and  body  may  be  an  instance  of 
this.  Yet  this  proffered  solution  of  the  difficulty  only 
pushes  it  back  in  time,  but  does  not  solve  it.  We  now  put 
the  query  to  the  constructive  soul  —  why  have  you  tied 
your  creature  to  his  instrument  ?  If  you  yourself  could  act 
directly  upon  matter,  why  cannot  he  ? 

A  part  of  the  difficulty  may  be  removed  by  admitting  the 
large  sensuous  element  in  the  soul's  life.  After  all,  the  primal 
interests  of  the  soul  are  not  in  things,  but  in  the  body,  and  the 
fundamental  values  are  immediately  realized  through  the 
activities  of  the  body,  not  in  things  lying  without  the  body. 
The  activity  of  eating  is  the  animal's  original  good,  not  the 
preparation  of  food;  the  satisfaction  of  sexual  craving,  not 


THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  MIND  AND  BODY      75 

the  courting  of  the  female.  The  animal  first  moves  in  order 
to  move  rather  than  to  attain  anything  through  moving.  It 
does  not  eat  in  order  to  live,  generate  in  order  to  perpetuate, 
move  in  order  to  appropriate;  but  eats,  loves  and  moves,  for 
eating,  loving  and  moving.  The  original  locus  of  all  interests 
is  the  body;  the  interest  in  external  things  is  derivative, 
being  transferred  from  the  body.  That  which  co-operates  ' 
in  bodily  satisfaction  acquires  irradiated  values;  because  in 
order  to  eat  I  must  have  food,  and  in  order  to  love  I  must 
have  an  object,  these  latter  become  radiant;  they  have  no 
value  in  themselves,  but  only  through  needs,  which  are 
bodily.  It  is  not  strange  that  the  energies  of  the  soul  are 
spent  chiefly  in  protecting,  housing,  clothing,  feeding  and 
finding  a  mate  for  its  body,  since  the  body's  activities  are 
the  direct  source  of  most  of  its  satisfactions. 

Hence,  to  the  question  why  the  soul  is  tied  to  the  body, 
one  might  answer,  because  its  interests  are  primarily  in  the 
body.  And  by  body  we  mean,  of  course,  not  the  hypotheti- 
cal system  of  atoms  constructed  by  the  scientists,  but  the 
sensuous  reahty  given  in  our  experience.  Just  as  different 
instruments  are  assigned  to  different  people  in  an  orchestra 
in  order  that  they  may  make  music  of  various  colors,  so 
particular  bodies  are  given  to  souls  in  order  that  they  may 
realize  the  values  potential  to  their  activities.  The  construc- 
tive soul,  we  may  suppose,  makes  the  body  in  order  that  the 
individual  man  or  woman  may  use  it  to  obtain  the  unique 
satisfactions  which  it  affords. 

Even  viewed  from  this  angle,  the  instrumental  theory  is 
not  free  from  difficulties;  for  this  one  at  least  remains,  that 


j(i  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

in  order  for  a  thing  to  be  given  as  a  tool,  a  user  must  already 
exist;  but  the  self  does  not  pre-exist  to  the  acts  of  its  body. 
The  interests  which  are  attached  there  cannot  exist  sepa- 
rately. There  can  be,  for  example,  no  satisfaction  in  move- 
ment unless  there  is  movement,  and  no  desire  to  move  unless 
there  is  a  commencing  motion ;  and  the  self  can  have  no  idea 
of  these  experiences  —  and  a  fortiori  no  desire  for  them  — 
before  it  has  possessed  them.  So  far,  therefore,  as  the  cor- 
poreal interests  of  the  soul  are  concerned,  it  would  seem  to 
be  misleading  to  think  of  the  latter  as  a  musician  playing 
upon  the  body  as  an  instrument;  because,  once  more,  the 
soul  does  not  exist  at  all  until  the  body  is  set  into  action. 
The  player  can  exist  without  his  instrument;  but  the  soul 
does  not  exist  without  the  body. 

In  a  larger  sense,  however,  it  is  not  true  that  the  musician 
exists  apart  from  his  instrument.  Take  from  him  his  violin 
or  his  piano  and  his  musicianly  self  is  gone.  The  playing  of 
the  instrument  is  himself.  And  this  is  true  of  every  use  of 
tools.  When  the  workman  puts  away  his  tools,  he  leaves 
behind  a  part  of  himself;  we  do  not  see  this  so  clearly  in  the 
case  of  the  artisan  as  we  do  in  the  case  of  the  artist,  because 
more  of  the  man's  self  is  in  the  latter's  work  than  in  the 
former's.  It  is  not  true,  moreover,  that  in  all  cases  one 
instrument  is  as  good  as  another,  for  neither  the  materials 
nor  the  tools  of  the  artist  can  be  exchanged.  In  so  far, 
therefore,  as  each  self  is  unique,  its  body,  as  the  instrument 
of  its  activities,  must  also  be  unique.  The  use  of  this  tool  is 
the  man  —  without  it,  he  is  not.  Hence,  only  in  the  larger 
sense  of  medium  of  expression  is  the  body  a  tool  of  the  self. 


THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  MIND  AND  BODY  ']'] 

The  difficulty  in  the  way  of  accepting  this  last  view,  so 
close  to  unprejudiced  habits  of  thinking  among  the  people, 
arises  from  the  artificial,  "scientific  "  conception  of  the  body. 
That  the  soul,  a  passionate  thing,  should  be  tied  to  a  swarm 
of  atoms  imaginable  only  by  the  most  attenuated  thought 
must  always  remain  a  mystery;  but  when  we  come  to 
recognize  that  the  body  is  what  we  find  it  in  our  experience 
—  a  sensuous  congeries,  warm  and  hot,  straining  and  relax- 
ing, moving  and  reposing,  this  strangeness  disappears;  it  is 
then  no  longer  wonderful  that  the  self  should  be  bound  to 
that  in  which  it  is  chiefly  interested.  For  example,  the 
movement  sensations  of  the  dancer  are  elements  of  her  very 
body's  motions;  it  would  be  absurd,  therefore,  to  consider 
her  Umbs  as  mere  external  instruments  of  the  dancing  experi- 
ence, when  they  are  not  something  other  than  it,  but  a  part 
of  it,  the  rest  being  the  values  in  dancing,  which  certainly 
could  not  exist  previous  to  the  dancing. 

The  instrumental  theory,  as  ordinarily  conceived,  is  thus 
inadequate  to  the  facts  of  the  lower  soul-life,  and  could  never 
have  grown  out  of  reflection  upon  them.  For  there  the  soul 
is  so  immersed  in  the  body  that  it  could  not  conceivably 
exist  without  the  latter.  So  true  is  this,  that  spiritualistic 
philosophers  from  Plato  downward  have  sought  to  minimize 
or  reject  this  part  of  the  soul,  and  have  founded  the  instru- 
mental theory  oh  the  consideration  of  the  higher  soul-life  of 
memory,  imagination  and  thought.  The  roots  of  the  theory 
in  this  region  might  profitably  be  traced  from  Plato  through 
Plotinus  to  Bergson  in  our  own  time.  In  the  view  of  all 
these  thinkers  the  higher  soul-life  is  essentially  distinct  from. 


78  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

and  independent  of,  the  body,  making  use  of  the  latter  only 
as  a  tool  for  the  purpose  of  acting  on  the  sense  world.  With 
Plato,  who  was  near  enough  to  common  modes  of  thinking 
to  perceive  the  necessary  connection  of  the  lower  soul-life 
with  the  body,  the  theory  was  a  part  of  that  dualism  be- 
tween the  lower  nature  and  the  higher  which  persists  among 
all  his  intellectual  children.  It  is  in  the  higher  region,  there- 
fore, that  the  final  test  of  the  theory  must  be  made.  Let  us, 
then,  proceed  to  study  it  there,  confining  our  attention  for 
the  moment,  however,  to  those  facts  upon  which  the  higher 
life  is  based. 

On  the  way  to  the  higher  soul-life  stands  the  image.  The 
image  is  obviously  the  basis  or  material  of  all  imagina- 
tion, thought,  purpose,  and  sentiment.  The  image  has  a 
double  relation :  on  the  one  hand,  to  the  sensation  of  which 
it  is  a  derivative,  and  on  the  other,  to  the  brain  on  which  it 
is  somehow  dependent.  If  considered  with  reference  to 
either  one  of  these  alone,  it  is  incomprehensible. 

The  image  is  obviously  a  duplicate  of  sensation.  In  the 
image  the  sense  world  is  mirrored.  But  the  replica  is  no 
exact  copy.  The  differences  between  the  two  are  common- 
places of  observation ;  what  is  important  for  us  is  the  second- 
ary character  of  the  image  in  relation  to  sensation,  which 
is  plain  alike  from  the  differences  and  the  resemblances  be- 
tween them.  There  is  nothing  in  the  image  which  is  not  in 
the  sensation;  there  are,  of  course,  combinations  of  images  to 
which  nothing  in  the  sense  world  corresponds;  but  there 
are  no  such  elementary  images.  The  image  is  posterior  to  the 
sensation ;  unless  a  sensation  has  preceded,  there  is  no  image. 


THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  MIND  AND  BODY   79 

Invention  is  no  exception;  for  the  elements  of  a  plan  are 
based  on  sensations  antecedent  both  to  the  plan  and  to  the 
thing  constructed  in  accordance  with  it.  The  image  is  also 
dependent  in  a  third  respect,  evident  at  once  in  the  plan  and 
in  memory  —  it  demands  fulfillment  in  sensation.  It  is  the 
intention  of  the  image  to  lead  into  a  sensation  of  like  quality 
or  to  offer  itself  as  a  substitute,  confessedly  poor,  of  a  sen- 
sation; the  latter  being  the  case  with  memory,  the  former 
with  volition.  The  memorial  image  has  value  only  in  the 
absence  of  sensation,  the  plan  or  expectation  only  until 
realization. 

But  the  whole  sense  world  is  not  imaged.  Only  so  much 
as  is  perceived,  and  even  not  all  of  that,  is  mirrored.  Now 
in  the  process  of  mirroring  the  brain  is  somehow  concerned. 
This  is  the  strange  thing.  The  dependence  upon  sensation  is 
easily  comprehensible  —  we  can  understand  how  the  reflec- 
tion presupposes  the  object  reflected.  But  the  image  does 
not  mirror  the  brain.  The  facts  are  these:  The  brain  medi- 
ates integral  reactions  of  the  organism  to  the  sense  world; 
these  reactions  with  the  values  attendant  upon  them  are 
thus  brought  into  contact  with  the  sense  elements;  such 
elements  are  said  to  be  perceived.  Nervous  processes  which 
have  once  mediated  the  perception  of  a  sense  element  may, 
when  stimulated  to  like  activity  in  the  absence  of  the  sense 
element,  be  accompanied  by  an  image  of  that  element. 

Now  the  instrumentalist  claims  to  have  an  explanation  of 
these  facts.  To  the  question  why  the  image,  which  is  ad- 
mittedly heterogeneous  with  the  brain,  should  be  dependent 
upon  the  latter,  he  answers.  Because  it  is  the  purpose  of  the 


8o  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

image,  as  we  have  just  seen,  to  lead  back  to  sensation,  and 
to  this  end  the  body  is  useful.  Volition  is  the  clearest  case  of 
this.  The  plan,  an  imaginal  structure,  demands  fulfillment 
in  a  sensuous  reality,  and  in  order  to  complete  itself  therein 
makes  use  of  the  motor  mechanism  of  the  brain.  The  brain 
is  a  motor  mechanism,  the  purpose  of  which  is  to  realize 
ideas  in  the  sense  world. 

From  the  fact  that  the  brain  is  only  an  instrument  for  the 
realization  of  ideas,  it  is  inferred  that  they  must  be  capable 
of  existence  independent  of  it.  The  user  is  not  dependent  for 
his  existence  upon  the  tool.  This,  as  we  saw  in  the  discussion 
of  the  lower  soul-life,  is  the  premiss  of  the  instrumental 
theory.  The  case  of  Bergson  is  typical.  The  idea,  he  asserts, 
has  a  double  mode,  on  the  one  hand  speculative  —  "pure 
memory  "  —  which  exists  independent  of  the  brain;  on  the 
other  hand  practical,  anticipating  and  leading  into  action, 
and  dependent  on  the  brain  for  just  this  realization.  The 
practical  character  of  the  image  is  the  key,  Bergson  asserts, 
to  the  relation  between  mind  and  brain.  There  are  obviously 
two  points  to  be  considered  here:  the  alleged  independent 
existence  of  the  image  and  the  purely  practical  relation  to 
the  brain.   Let  us  study  the  former  first. 

A  man  who  tries  to  find  his  way  out  of  the  woods  is  guided 
by  memories  of  the  spots  passed  on  his  way  in.  One  place 
recognized  suggests  another  in  its  vicinity,  and  by  following 
these  suggestions,  that  is,  by  ordering  his  conduct  in  accord- 
ance with  these  images,  he  succeeds  in  his  effort.  If  the 
search  for  the  way  out  is  difficult  and  the  situation  anxious, 
his  mind  will  be  entirely  filled  by  the  images  —  no  other 


THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  MIND  AND  BODY   8 1 

memories  will  be  present.  Here  is  a  topical  example  at  once 
of  the  apparently  instrumental  character  of  the  relation 
between  image  and  body  —  for  the  image  seems  to  guide  the 
body  much  as  a  hand  might  guide  a  tool  —  and  of  the  practi- 
cal character  of  the  image  itself.  Let  us  study  this  example 
in  terms  of  our  problem. 

In  the  first  place,  the  suggested  images  which  guide  our 
huntsman's  steps  seem  to  be  brought  into  existence  by  the 
associative  process,  which  at  every  point  is  controlled  by  the 
immediate  practical  purpose  involving  the  body.  No  one 
would  deny,  I  suppose,  that  their  emergence  into  the  mind 
depends  on  the  purpose  in  hand.  But  how  do  we  know,  it 
may  be  said,  that  they  did  not  pre-exist  and  are  not  simply 
selected  for  use  at  this  particular  vital  juncture  ?  Well,  first 
of  all,  there  is  no  evidence  of  their  previous  existence.  Some 
of  the  images,  the  simulacra  of  objects  seen  for  the  first 
time,  will  be  new  to  the  man's  mind ;  they  will  appear  on  its 
surface  with  the  freshness  and  uniqueness  of  a  new  ripple  on 
water;  hence  their  power  of  existing  apart  from  this  mental 
context  cannot  be  tested.  On  the  other  hand,  some  of  the 
images  will  be  old  ones;  they  will  be  familiar;  and  by  re- 
appearing will  show  themselves  capable  of  a  certain  inde- 
pendence of  special  mental  structure.  Yet  how  could  one 
prove  that  they  continued  to  exist  between  the  old  and  the 
new  appearances  ?  Only  by  the  actual  discovery  of  them 
during  this  interval.  But  plainly  the  man  himself  could  not 
discover  them.  And  no  one  of  his  friends  could.  For,  al- 
though another  man  might  have  images  of  the  same  objects, 
he  could  not  have  the  same  images.    Images  are  peculiar. 


82  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

personal,  private.  They  have  a  common  reference  to 
identical  objects;  but  they  are  not  themselves  common. 

Yet  one  might  grant  the  individuality  of  imagery  and  still 
maintain  its  existence  independent  of  its  appearance  in  the 
mind.  Every  experience  of  an  object  may  result  in  the 
creation  of  an  image  of  it  which  exists  independent  of  any 
mind,  yet  accessible  to  one  mind  only;  each  person  thus 
possessing  a  storehouse  of  images  into  which  he  and  he 
only  can  enter.  The  individual  brain  would  be  just  a  key, 
as  it  were,  to  unlock  this  chamber;  but  would  not  in  any 
way  be  capable  of  creating  it  —  just  as  the  senses  do  not 
create  the  sense  world,  yet  give  access  to  it. 

Yet  a  simple  reflection  suffices  to  show  the  ineptitude  of 
this  supposition.  It  is  enough  to  examine  the  image  itself  to 
discover  that  it  has  no  status  independent  of  the  mind.  The 
image  is  part  of  an  intention ;  it  possesses  a  function  —  refer- 
ence to  an  object;  this  intention  is  a  mental  act.  It  has  no 
self-sufficing  being,  such  as  a  sensation  has.  It  serves,  as  we 
saw,  either  to  lead  into  a  sensation  —  voHtion  —  or  to  sub- 
stitute itself  for  one  —  knowledge.  But  both  knowledge  and 
action  are  functions  of  the  self. 

But  does  the  functional  character  of  images  and  the 
consequent  dependence  on  mind  prove  dependence  on  the 
body  ?  I  think  so.  The  instrumentalists  admit  this  for 
the  practical  side  of  the  higher  soul-life.  Since  the  use  of 
images  in  action  depends  on  the  body,  and  since,  as  we  have 
seen,  they  have  no  existence  apart  from  this  use,  their  de- 
pendence on  the  body  is  made  out.  The  body  in  its  relation 
to  the  environment  sets  every  practical  problem.   We  have 


THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  MIND  AND  BODY   83 

already  showTi  how  the  interests  are  bound  up  with  the  body. 
And  the  practically  available  imagery  is  determined  through 
these  interests.  Take  the  illustration  of  the  huntsman  in  the 
woods.  His  interest  in  feeding  his  body,  determined  him  to 
enter  the  woods;  and  the  practical  problem  of  getting  out 
was'  determined  by  the  presence  of  his  body  there.  This 
presence  determined  his  sense  experience,  through  which,  in 
terms  of  the  problem  of  getting  out,  the  images  of  the  route 
back  were  suggested.  Now  each  one  of  these  images  is 
either  of  a  useful  movement  or  of  an  object  towards  which 
it  would  be  useful  to  move.  Hence,  their  relation  to  the 
brain  is  clear:  they  are  accompaniments  of  brain  processes 
which  either  set  up  useful  movements  or  tend  to  do  so.  The 
intent  of  every  practical  image  is  to  place  the  body  in  a  more 
favorable  relation  to  the  environment.  In  fine,  the  body 
does  not  exist  for  the  sake  of  the  image;  rather,  conversely, 
the  image  exists  for  the  sake  of  the  body. 

Similar  to  the  instrumental  theory  of  the  relation  of  the 
image  and  the  brain  is  so-called  interactionism,  the  passing 
examination  of  which,  will,  I  think,  throw  light  on  our  prob- 
lem. According  to  interactionism,  the  image  depends  upon 
the  body  for  its  existence,  yet,  once  it  is  there,  intercalates  it- 
self between  stimulation  and  reaction,  guides  the  latter,  and 
so  has  the  value  of  a  real  causal  element  in  the  vital  process. 
The  teleological  reactions  of  the  organism,  in  particular,  are 
causally  dependent  on  the  functional  image.  The  interac- 
tionist  no  more  thinks  of  the  image  as  being  independent  of 
the  body  than  we  do.  In  this  he  differs  radically  from  the 
Platonic  instrumentalist.    He  simply  claims  for  the  image 


84  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

the  same  sort  of  efficacy  as  is  possessed  by  any  organ,  say 
by  the  stomach  or  eye,  which  are  produced  by  the  organism 
as  a  whole,  and  are  incapable  of  existing  separate  from  it, 
yet,  as  constituent  parts,  enter  into  its  causal  economy. 
The  functional  image  is  responsible,  it  is  claimed,  for  two 
characteristics  of  conscious  behaviour:  the  association  of 
old  reactions  to  new  stimuli  either  contiguous  or  similar  to 
the  old  (learning),  and  the  combination  of  old  reactions  into 
new  ones  (invention),  always  in  the  direction  of  dominion 
over  the  environment  to  the  end  of  self-preservation.  No 
mere  machine  could  exhibit  behaviour  of  this  kind,  it  is 
claimed. 

The  examination  of  experience  seems  to  confirm  this  view 
of  the  situation.  In  all  voluntary  action  the  idea  of  the  end 
precedes  and  seems  to  determine  the  activities  of  the  body. 
The  idea  of  the  point  to  be  reached,  for  example,  precedes 
the  steps  of  the  huntsman  at  each  part  of  his  journey,  and 
his  steps  are  taken  in  accordance  with  it. 

Yet,  interactionism  cannot  be  established  on  the  basis  of 
these  arguments.  The  impossibility  of  explaining  the  be- 
haviour of  the  conscious  organism  on  mechanical  principles 
does  not  prove  that  consciousness  intervenes  as  a  cause.  It 
proves  only  that  the  living  and  conscious  body  possesses 
the  capacity  for  acting  in  a  fashion  other  than  mechanical. 
The  limits  of  this  capacity  cannot  be  established  a  priori. 
The  sufficiency  of  the  mechanical  principles  for  the  descrip- 
tion of  nature  is  a  hypothesis  which  is  highly  probable  in  the 
inorganic  world",  but  so  far  not  established  in  other  fields. 
And  the  apparent  intervention  of  the  image  between  stimu- 


THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  MIND  AND  BODY      85 

lation  and  reaction  is  not  proved.  Indeed,  if  we  take  into 
account  not  merely  the  gross  acts  of  the  body,  but  all  the 
preparatory  phenomena,  the  idea  appears  to  be  rather  a 
formulation  of  the  action  which  the  body  is  already  begin- 
ning to  undertake,  and  of  the  end  to  which  it  is  even  now 
tending,  than  a  precedent  and  separate  fact. 

That  ideas  are  not  transitively  causal  in  their  relation  to 
the  body,  as  the  interactionist  maintains,  can,  I  think,  be 
made  plausible  by  the  following  argument.  It  will  probably 
be  granted  that  if  we  can  prove  this  for  ideas  in  their  pur- 
posive function,  we  can  do  so  for  all  ideas.  Every  purpose  is 
a  formulated  desire,  one  that  has  become  aware  of  the  object 
which  would  satisfy  it.  This  awareness  of  its  object  dis- 
tinguishes desire  from  simple  impulse  or  instinct,  but  does 
not  itself  constitute  desire;  for  the  mere  knowledge  of  an 
object  does  not  make  it  desirable.  Hence,  more  accurately, 
purpose  is  impulse  upon  which  has  been  engrafted,  in  its 
service,  an  idea.  Let  us  now  study  each  of  these  elements 
of  purpose  and  ask  ourselves  whether  or  not  their  relations 
to  the  body  are  transitively  causal.  This  is  certainly  not 
true  of  the  idea  taken  abstractly  in  its  cognitive  function. 
The  idea  represents  the  goal  to  be  attained  and  possesses 
proleptically  the  experience  which  will  give  satisfaction; 
but,  of  itself,  it  cannot  create  that  object  or  bring  to  pass 
that  experience.  And  a  mere  knowledge  of  an  object  cer- 
tainly cannot  move  and  direct  a  brain  and  muscular  appara- 
tus to  any  action.  The  knowing  idea,  if  taken  in  abstraction, 
is  representative  of  its  object,  not  dynamic  to  the  brain,  of 
which  it  is  completely  ignorant.   But  now,  if  we  consider  the 


86  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

other  factor  in  purpose,  impulse,  we  find  that  in  itself  it, 
too,  is  not  dynamically  related  either  to  the  thing  desired 
or  to  the  body.  For,  instead  of  standing  over  against  the 
body  and  then  impelling  or  dragging  it  to  action,  desire  pre- 
supposes a  definite  state  of  the  body  in  order  to  exist.  The 
impulse  for  food,  for  example,  is  the  expression  of  hunger — 
but  what  is  hunger  except  a  certain  state  of  the  body  ?  Would 
hunger  be  possible  without  a  body  ?  Any  one  who  answers  in 
the  affirmative  shows  that  he  is  still  an  adherent  of  the  theory 
that  the  body  is  a  heap  of  atoms  inaccessible  to  direct  experi- 
ence. But  as  soon  as  it  is  recognized  that  our  experience  of 
the  body  is  the  body,  it  becomes  as  absurd  to  think  of  hunger 
without  a  digestive  organ  as  of  motion  without  a  thing 
which  moves.  The  interaction  theory  sins  in  the  same  way 
as  the  instrumental  theory  —  in  thinking  that  desire  can 
exist  without  the  organs  of  which  it  is  an  expression.  Hunger 
cannot  react  with  the  body,  for  it  possesses  no  substantial 
reality  apart  from  the  body.  It  arises  as  a  phase  of  certain 
bodily  conditions,  varies  with  them,  and  necessarily  ceases 
with  them.  It  is  an  expression  or  aspect  of  them,  not  a  cause 
of  them. 

Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  we  here  fall  into  contradiction 
with  ourselves;  that,  in  order  to  refute  the  supposition  that 
the  soul  could  exist  apart  from  the  body,  we  urged  the  func- 
tional character  of  ideas ;  whereas  now,  in  order  to  refute  the 
interaction  theory,  we  assert  that  ideas  do  nothing  —  are 
functionless.  We  are  not  denying  the  functional  character 
of  ideas ;  we  are  rather  assigning  to  them  their  proper  func- 
tion.   The  idea  is  functional  only  when  penetrated  by  a 


THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  MIND  AND  BODY      87 

desire;  it  represents  those  objects  which  would  satisfy 
desire;  but  desire  is  itself  a  function  of  the  body.  The  idea, 
therefore,  expresses  the  body's  action  just  as  desire  does, 
and  so  does  not  stand  over  against  the  body  interacting 
with  it.  Yet  the  idea  is  not  functionless  simply  because  it 
does  not  enter  into  causal  relations  with  the  body;  for 
by  representing  the  objects  which  would  satisfy  desire,  it 
affords  premonitory  deHghts,  and,  in  the  truest  sense,  en- 
lightens behaviour.  And  it  is  also  not  ineffective;  for  the 
desiring,  planning  body  is  the  integral  fact  which  stands  in 
causal  relations  with  the  other  facts  in  the  world.  The  idea 
is,  indeed,  effective,  but  only  through  its  organ  of  expression, 
the  body. 

A  person  who  rejects  interactionism  is  usually  found  to 
uphold  the  theory  called  parallelism.  But  paralleHsm  is, 
I  think,  equally  unsatisfactory.  According  to  this  latter 
theory,  a  purposive  idea  is  a  mere  passive  accompaniment  of 
the  body's  action,  totally  ineffective.  But  every  one  knows 
at  first  hand  that  this  is  not  true.  Its  plausibility  rests 
wholly  on  the  materialistic  reconstruction  of  experience,  the 
artificiality  and  baselessness  of  which  we  have  already  re- 
ferred to.  Of  course,  once  you  conceive  of  the  body  as  a 
system  of  atoms,  it  becomes  impossible  to  understand  how 
the  mind  can  control  it.  On  the  other  hand,  just  as  soon  as 
you  recognize  that  the  body  is  what  it  is  found  to  be,  all  the 
objections  to  the  control  of  the  body  through  ideas  fall 
away,  and  the  testimony  of  experience  forces  acceptance. 

It  might,  however,  still  be  urged  that  even  from  the  stand- 
point of  our  own  theory  of  the  physical  world,  ideas  and 


88  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

their  bodily  expression  are  too  dissimilar  to  allow  of  the 
kind  of  unity  which  we  suppose  to  exist  between  them.  For 
could  there  be  anything  empirically  more  heterogeneous 
than  an  idea  and  the  cell-bodies,  neurones  and  dendrites  of 
the  brain  ?  But  two  things  must  be  borne  in  mind  in  this 
connection:  first,  that  even  these  are  sensations,  are  just 
the  visual  phenomena  which  we  discover  them  to  be,  and 
second,  that  they  are  not  the  immediate  means  of  expression 
for  the  idea,  but  rather  facts  in  the  mind  of  the  observer, 
connected  indeed  with  the  action  of  the  ideas  in  question, 
but  only  indirectly  through  the  body  of  the  observer  and  the 
intervening  physical  world.  The  direct  medium  for  the  ex- 
pression of  ideas  is  the  body  which  adjoins  the  experience 
of  which  they  are  a  part;  the  rest  are  indirect  expressions. 
And,  of  course,  we  are  far  from  maintaining  that  a  purpo- 
sive idea  and  its  medium  of  expression  are  identical  —  there 
is  no  identity  anywhere  between  a  function  and  its  medium; 
we  claim  only  that  they  are  here,  as  elsewhere,  on  the  one 
plane  of  experiential  reality. 

Our  disproof  of  the  ordinary  instrumental  theory  and 
proof  of  what  we  may  call  the  expression  theory  will  remain 
incomplete  until  we  consider  the  most  exalted  of  the  soul's 
activities,  the  purely  cognitive.  Even  Aristotle  conceived  of 
reason  as  something  almost  supernatural.  And  today,  as  we 
have  recalled,  Bergson  believes  that  "pure  memory"  exists 
independent  of  the  body.  The  basis  for  independence  is  the 
asserted  non-practicality  of  these  functions.  The  body 
exists  for  the  sake  of  adjustment  to  and  dominion  over  the 
environment;  hence,  to  use  Bergson's  case,  a  mental  func- 


THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  MIND  AND  BODY   89 

tion  like  reverie,  during  which  the  individual  surveys  his 
past,  not  with  the  purpose  of  learning  a  lesson  for  the  future, 
but  just  to  get  a  vision  once  more  of  deeds  once  hved,  can 
have  no  need  of  the  body ;  such  an  act,  being  purely  theo- 
retical or  aesthetic,  involves,  it  is  said,  no  adjustment  and 
results  in  no  practical  mastery.  Even  as  the  past  itself  is 
removed  from  our  action,  so  a  vision  of  the  past,  when 
entered  upon  simply  for  its  lingering  charm  and  interest,  has 
no  practical  reference.  Along  with  the  denial  of  the  depend- 
ence of  such  mental  acts  on  the  body,  Bergson  asserts  their 
existence  independent  of  consciousness.  A  man's  whole  past, 
he  believes,  exists  in  images;  but  only  a  small  number  come 
at  any  moment  into  the  light  of  consciousness;  and  those 
that  do  appear  there  are  for  the  most  part  invoked  because 
of  their  utility ;  they  use  the  brain  as  an  instrument  —  they 
cannot  act  without  it;  the  rest  have  no  brain  correlatives 
—  they  are  inactive. 

We  have  already  said  something  against  the  existence  of 
images  independent  of  consciousness;  yet  that  might  be 
considered  insufficient,  since  no  reference  to  explicitly  non- 
practical  images  was  made.  But  the  same  arguments  apply 
generally.  The  image  always  appears  in  the  mind  impreg- 
nated with  an  act;  it  is  always  the  vehicle  of  a  meaning  and 
the  embodiment  of  a  feeling.  Apart  from  its  representative 
function  and  emotional  significance,  it  has  no  standing  in 
reality.  As  we  have  shown,  an  image  does  not  stand  on  its 
own  feet  as  a  sense  element  does ;  it  is  always  retrospective 
of  or  transitive  to  something  else.  Even  in  free  imagination 
the  image  is  there  to  picture  a  fictitious  sensuous  reaHty .  And 


90  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

in  memory  the  image  represents  the  past ;  it  voices  a  histori- 
cal truth;  it  does  not  offer  itself.  A  cognitive  activity  is  no 
less  functional,  no  less  active,  than  a  practical  one.  Hence,  the 
supposition  that  an  act  can  exist  apart  from  consciousness 
is  meaningless;  for  consciousness  is  nothing  except  acts  and 
the  sense  elements  with  which  they  are  in  contact.  And  to 
suppose  that  some  acts,  the  memories,  can  be  split  off  from 
the  rest  is  Uke  supposing  that  one  could  cut  off  a  limb  and 
keep  it  alive.  Bergson  makes  the  mistake  of  conceiving 
memory  as  a  passive  review  of  objects,  when,  as  a  matter  of 
fact,  it  is  a  living  development  of  one  activity  out  of  another. 
There  is  nothing  more  intimate  than  memory,  nothing  that 
penetrates  so  far  into  the  soil  of  feeling  and  striving.  Every 
vision  of  the  past,  no  matter  how  seemingly  static  and  purely 
pictorial,  is  born  of  some  mood  or  desire. 

The  same  organic  relation  to  the  self  which  we  have 
claimed  for  memory  is  true  also  for  thought,  even  in  its  most 
speculative  and  apparently  non-practical  reaches.  That 
there  is  apprehended  by  thought  a  reality  independent  of 
any  one's  thinking,  and  by  memory  a  reality  independent  of 
any  one's  remembering,  can  be  maintained  with  some  plau- 
sibility, but  that  the  thinking  and  remembering  of  the 
individual  man  is  not  his,  not  an  inseparable  part  of  the  self, 
cannot  be  supported  by  any  arguments.  Thinking  is  an 
activity;  it  fulfills  a  striving  and  is  itself  a  meaning  even 
when  divorced  from  practical  motives  fixed  by  the  body's 
relation  to  the  environment.  There  is  no  thinking  without 
the  purpose,  the  will  to  think.  But  the  activities  are  identi- 
cal with  their  being  lived,  with  the  consciousness  of  them; 


THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  MIND  AND  BODY   9 1 

there  is,  as  we  have  argued  at  length,  no  difference  between 
an  act  and  the  consciousness  of  an  act.  And  to  suppose  that 
activities  could  be  split  off  from  the  rest  of  what  at  any 
moment  we  know  as  the  self  is,  we  repeat,  to  ignore  the 
living  integrity  of  the  self  and  the  interwovenness  of  its  acts 
—  their  relativity  to  their  cues  and  occasions.  We,  of 
course,  do  not  claim  any  occult  unity  for  the  self  —  merely 
that  which  is  possessed  by  any  highly  organized  animal 
body. 

We  do  not  deny  the  non-practical  character  of  much 
memory  and  thought.  The  mind,  like  the  body,  in  large 
part  —  certainly  in  by  far  the  largest  part  —  is  developed 
with  reference  to  the  external  world  in  order  to  dominate  it; 
yet  there  are  internal  relations  of  part  to  part  within  the 
organism,  and  even  developments  of  single  parts  which  only 
remotely  have  this  reference.  The  mind,  Hke  the  organism, 
is  a  Httle  world  by  itself,  and  so,  to  a  certain  extent,  ruled  by 
its  own  laws  and  possessed  of  an  independent  career.  Yet 
we  claim  that,  except  in  the  pathological  conditions  of  dis- 
sociation, perhaps,  the  various  acts  of  the  self  are  so  inter- 
dependent that  they  cannot  exist  separate  from  their  world. 

It  might  seem,  however,  that  even  if  we  have  proved  the 
impossibility  of  the  existence  of  the  higher  acts  beyond  con- 
sciousness, we  have  not  proved  their  dependence  on  the  body 
while  in  consciousness.  Yet  the  dependence  of  the  higher 
soul-life  on  the  body  follows  from  what  we  have  already 
established.  We  have  shown  that  the  lower  soul-life  is 
dependent  upon  the  body  because  it  expresses  the  body,  and 
the  practical  life  of  ideas  because  they  serve  the  body. 


92  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

Now  no  one  would  deny  the  close  relation  between  the 
higher  soul-life  and  the  lower.  Both  are  parts  of  the  one 
mind.  Hence,  whatever  affects  the  lower  part  of  the  soul  in 
its  connection  with  the  body  affects  the  higher,  and  nothing 
can  happen  in  the  higher  without  affecting  the  lower  and  so 
coming  into  relation  with  the  body. 

Yet  a  doubt  may  still  remain ;  for  might  not  this  relation 
be  expressed  by  some  sort  of  interaction  theory  ?  Might  not 
the  lower  soul-Hfe  in  its  attachment  to  the  body  be  con- 
nected causally  with  the  higher,  although  the  latter  had  no 
physical  expression  ?  Thus  the  soul  would  have  an  exten- 
sion, an  upper  story,  as  it  were,  raised  above  the  physical 
world,  yet  connected  with  it  through  the  lower  foundation 
upon  which  it  rests.  Influences  would  pass  from  one  to  the 
other.  The  intellect  would  use  the  motor  organism  for  the 
expression  and  record  of  itself;  and  disturbances  arising 
from  the  lower  soul  would  propagate  themselves  higher. 
Yet  the  intellect  itself  would  be  free  of  the  body. 

The  interpenetration  of  the  parts  of  the  soul  forbids,  how- 
ever, such  an  interpretation.  The  speculative  and  the  prac- 
tical are  only  two  directions  of  a  single  function,  and  the 
bodily  contacts  which  make  the  latter  possible  are  not 
broken,  but  only  less  active  in  the  case  of  the  former. 
Every  idea,  as  we  have  shown,  is  the  reflex  of  a  sense  experi- 
ence, essentially  corporeal  in  its  origin,  the  expression  of 
some  bodily  movement  and  adjustment.  In  its  original 
phase,  the  idea  exists  to  guide  the  organism  back  to  such  an 
experience  —  the  memory  of  some  scene  of  vivid  enjoyment 
leads  us  back  to  enjoy  it  once  more.  Apart  from  the  longing 


THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  MIND  AND  BODY   93 

and  motor  tendency  to  return,  the  idea  would  not  arise.  The 
idea  is  not  self-sufficient;  it  demands  fulfillment  in  a  sense 
experience  of  the  same  type,  and  expresses  just  this  incom- 
pleteness. But  oftentimes  the  reinstatement  of  experience 
is  impossible.  Does  the  idea  then  cease  to  exist  ?  Not  neces- 
sarily. A  failure  to  adjust  the  organism  to  the  environment 
in  any  given  direction  need  not  spoil  the  function  concerned ; 
it  may  simply  be  the  means  of  turning  the  energy  inwards. 
The  tendency  to  return  to  the  scene  of  our  illustration  will 
continue  to  exist  and  become  active  when  the  proper  cues 
are  provided,  even  when  no  successful  issue  in  behaviour 
occurs;  and  with  the  arousal  of  the  motor  tendency  the 
desire  and  the  idea  which  are  its  expression  will  recur:  only 
they  will  now  exist  in  a  new  form ;  they  will  have  become  a 
mere  memory  of  the  scene  —  a  pure  memory  —  practically 
ineffective.  And  to  this  fruitless  image  will  be  attached 
the  values  which  would  have  accrued  to  the  reinstatement 
of  the  experience  which  it  means  —  the  sunny  joys  of 
activity  will  be  transformed  into  the  moonlit  delights  of 
contemplation.  And  so  the  speculative  grows  out  of  the 
practical:  we  build  in  the  imagination  that  desired  thing 
which  we  have  failed  to  keep  or  create.  Yet,  in  emerging 
from  the  practical,  the  speculative  cannot  free  itself  from  the 
bodily  attachment  which  is  clearly  necessary  to  the  life  of 
the  former.  The  original  total  thing  is  the  plan  with  the 
motor  aspect;  now  the  plan  cannot  be  transformed  into  the 
speculative  idea,  since  the  whole  thing  is  a  unit,  without  a 
transformation  of  the  bodily  aspect  of  the  whole;  least  of  all 
can  the  plan  free  itself  from  the  body.    The  continued  de- 


94  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

pendence  of  ideas  on  the  body  is  evident  once  we  reflect  that 
ideas  become  speculative  because  of  events  and  circum- 
stances in  which  the  body  plays  the  deciding  role.  Every 
idea  has  originally  a  practical  intent;  the  purely  speculative 
idea  is  an  aborted  plan;  but  all  practical  failure  is  due  to  the 
body  in  its  relation  to  the  physical  world. 

Not  only  are  the  higher  activities  a  development  of  the 
lower  and  practical  and  so  bound  to  maintain  the  connec- 
tion with  the  body  possessed  by  the  latter;  they  are  always 
implicated  in  the  latter.  The  higher  soul-Kfe  is  no  separable 
phase  or  upper  story  of  the  mind,  but  a  later  growth  which, 
even  when  soaring  highest,  keeps  its  roots  in  the  lower. 
Consider  beauty  and  affection.  A  purely  non-corporeal 
affection  is  an  abstraction,  not  a  concrete  reaHty;  torn  from 
its  sensuous  root,  it  withers  and  dies;  this  is  true,  not  only  of 
passionate  love,  but  of  quiet  friendship,  which  also  requires 
bodily  presence  and  the  interchange  of  word  and  act.  The 
aesthetic  interests,  despite  all  their  spirituality,  depend 
flagrantly  upon  the  interfusion  of  subtle  organic  values ;  it 
is  the  balance  between  spirit  and  sense  which  gives  them 
their  pre-eminence,  the  clear  and  equal  participation  of 
body  with  feeling  and  thought.  Finally,  there  is  no  purely 
speculative  activity.  Every  philosophy  expresses  the  emo- 
tional and  striving  life  of  the  philosopher;  even  when 
standing  in  apparent  contradiction  with  his  ostensible  acts, 
it  is  in  secret  agreement  with  some  part  of  his  nature  which 
virtue  or  fear  or  circumstance  has  kept  him  from  hving 
out  —  the  radical  thought  of  the  conventional  man  has 
another  ground  than  pure  reason.   And  if  we  take  practical 


THE  RELATION  BETWEEN  MIND  AND  BODY      95 

in  the  truer  and  larger  sense  of  including  all  that  has  refer- 
ence to  effectiveness  beyond  the  individual  mind,  then  all 
soul-Hfe  is  practical.  There  is  no  idea  or  emotion,  however 
attenuated,  which  does  not  crave  expression,  communication, 
a  career  in  the  wider  world  of  the  fellow  mind.  But  expres- 
sion and  communication  involve  the  body.  And  thought 
and  feeling  do  not  first  exist  and  then  use  the  body  as  an 
instrument  for  expression ;  for  an  activity  and  its  expression 
are  one  fact.  Thought  does  not  begin  to  be  without  some 
incipient  expression.  And  it  is  not  the  fancies  and  thoughts 
of  the  man  of  genius  alone  that  crave  expression ;  there  is  no 
vision  of  the  past  held  by  any  common  man,  and  no  one  of 
his  dreams,  that  does  not  yearn  for  relation,  and,  in  devious 
ways,  affect  his  conduct. 

Thus  the  dependence  of  the  mind  on  the  body  has  been 
shown  to  be  complete.^  The  body  is  the  soul's  expression,  its 
indispensable  tool,  without  which  it  is  not. 

1  Further  problems  connected  with  this  dependence  are  studied  in  Chap- 
ter X. 


CHAPTER  V 

TIME 

EVERY  phase  of  reality  which  we  have  investigated  so 
far,  the  self,  the  body,  the  external  world,  is  pervaded 
by  change. 

Being  so  fundamental  a  property  of  existence,  change  is 
naturally  thought  to  be  simple  and  unanalyzable.  Yet  an 
attentive  examination  reveals  three  indispensable  aspects. 
Change  involves,  first,  the  commg  in,  rise  or  emergence  into 
existence  of  something  new,  something  which  was  not  before. 
Every  alteration  or  development  is  an  illustration :  a  body 
moves  into  a  new  point;  an  organism  passes  into  a  stage 
which  was  hitherto  not  its  own.  Although  perfectly  clear  as 
a  mark  of  direct  experience,  this  is  often  only  grudgingly 
recognized.  People  try  to  minimize  it  by  seeking  to  break 
the  new  into  smaller  and  ever  smaller  increments,  even  into 
an  infinite  multitude  of  them,  yet  the  fact  of  increment 
remains  —  creative  steps  are  made. 

Plainly  the  new  which  comes  to  be  does  not  rise  into  a 
void,  but  into  a  space  already  there,  into  a  world  already 
old.  Here  is  the  second  moment  of  change  —  the  persistence 
of  a  core  of  reality  upon  which  the  new  is  grafted.  This 
abiding  aspect  of  the  changing  thing  is  usually  called  "  the 
thing  which  "  changes.  In  the  self  we  have  the  most  direct 
knowledge  of  the  combination  of  new  and  old,  of  identity 
and  diversity,  essential  to  change;  for  there,  as  we  have  seen, 

96 


TIME  97 

new  sensations  and  new  images,  new  interests  and  new 
emotions,  are  developed  out  of,  and  woven  into,  purposes 
and  attitudes  that  endure. 

Third  and  last,  change  involves  disappearance  from  exist- 
ence, disintegration,  loss.  If  we  did  not  know  this  independ- 
ently, we  could  deduce  it  from  the  moments  of  change 
already  cited.  For  the  new,  by  breaking  in  upon  the  old 
situation  and  giving  to  it  a  new  element,  necessarily  destroys 
it.  When  c  enters,  the  old  whole  a-\rh  passes  away;  for  it 
has  become  <z+6-f  c,  and  its  several  elements  have  changed 
in  adjusting  themselves  to  the  intruder.  But  the  devastat- 
ing effect  of  change  is  not  confined  to  the  destruction  of  old 
totalities;  for  the  very  elements  of  the  old  may  pass  away. 
The  light  which  I  see  may  "  go  out  ";  the  thought  which  I 
now  entertain  may  leave  my  mind ;  the  man  may  die.  This 
aspect  of  loss  in  change  is  as  absolute  and  indefeasible  as  any 
other.  You  may  seek  to  minimize  it  by  reducing  it  to  small 
steps,  just  as  you  did  with  growth,  but  you  cannot  eliminate 
it;  however  small  or  gradual,  even  if  infinitesimal,  it  never- 
theless remains.  Yet  loss,  like  novelty,  never  covers  the 
entire  field;  loss  is  always  a  loss  from  something;  passing 
is  always  from  a  permanent.  And  just  as  creation  involves 
destruction,  so  destruction  involves  creation;  for  every 
whole,  in  losing  an  element,  thereby  becomes  a  new  one. 

The  three  moments  of  process  are  present  together  in 
every  individual  of  the  world;  yet  in  varying  degrees.  In 
some  individuals,  creation  is  especially  intense;  in  others, 
rest;  in  still  others,  loss.  By  reason  of  this,  the  elements  of 
reality  acquire  an  order,  the  so-called  time-form.    In  the 


98  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

song  —  to  use  the  familiar  example  —  there  is  always  a  note 
which  is  just  coming  to  be,  another  which  lingers,  a  third 
which  is  dying  away.  The  direction  of  this  order  is  towards 
the  individuals  where  there  is  most  creation  of  the  new  and 
away  from  those  which  are  passing.  The  new  comes  before 
the  old,  the  old  before  the  dying;  the  novel  enters,  becomes 
famihar,  and  then  is  lost. 

The  fact  of  coming  and  going  differentiates  the  time-form 
from  every  other  structure,  making  it  unique  and  irredu- 
cible. In  a  static  series,  like  that  of  the  letters  on  this  page, 
there  is  also  variety  and  unity,  but  there  is  not  novelty  and 
losing.  There,  each  element  has  a  distinct  and  unique  place, 
but  all  places  are  filled,  and  there  is  no  passing  of  one  and  rise 
of  another;  here,  elements  enter  into  places  left  vacant  by 
others,  the  newcomers  crowding  out  the  old.  In  the  eternal 
and  static,  all  things  can  conceivably  be  known  together; 
in  time,  acquaintance  must  proceed  from  one  to  another  — 
a  thing  must  enter  a  stranger  before  it  can  depart  a  familiar 
friend. 

The  co-presence  in  one  whole  of  elements,  permanent, 
rising  and  perishing,  may  seem  to  raise  a  problem.  For  if 
they  are  all  co-present,  they  must  co-exist;  hence,  at  any 
least  moment,  it  may  be  said,  they  must  either  be  all  static 
and  changeless,  the  ultimate  constituents  of  the  rising  and 
perishing  elements  being  on  a  level  with  the  rest;  or  else,  in 
the  whole  which  they  form,  existence  and  co-existence,  two 
contradictories,  must  be  peacefully  united,  the  transient 
elements  keeping  their  unique  character.  Yet  neither  of 
these  alternatives  is  possible;  for,  on  the  one  hand,  change 


TIME  99 

cannot  be  made  out  of  a  succession  of  static  states,  and,  on 
the  other,  two  contradictories  cannot  be  united  in  any  given 
thing.  We  have  a  direct  intuition  at  once  of  change  and  of 
the  certainty  of  the  principle  of  contradiction. 

This  difficulty  arises  from  a  poverty  of  categories.  We 
must  distinguish  rising  and  perishing  from  non-existence; 
we  must  recognize  that  existence  has  three  temporal  forms : 
the  permanent,  the  growing,  the  perishing.  Even  the  dying 
is  not  the  dead,  the  absolutely  non-existent.  Existence  and 
non-existence  can  no  more  cohere  than  any  two  other  con- 
tradictories can;  yet  in  the  same  thing,  in  the  same  least 
moment  of  reality,  creation  and  decay  are  present  together 
with  the  permanent,  just  as  color  and  extension  and  hardness 
co-exist  in  the  same  physical  object.  Becoming  and  passing 
must  be  recognized  as  ultimate  categories,  sub-forms  of  the 
existent,  on  an  equal  footing  there  with  the  permanent. 

Still,  it  is  sometimes  thought  that  you  can  reduce  tran- 
sition —  coming  to  be  or  passing  away  —  to  existence  and 
non-existence  as  simpler  and  more  ultimate  categories. 
That  which  is  coming  to  be,  it  is  said,  is  that  which  both  is 
and  is  not  yet;  that  which  is  passing  away  both  is  and  is  no 
longer.  Thus,  when  a  child  becomes  a  man,  it  might  seem 
that  as  a  child,  he  is,  and  as  a  man,  he  is  not;  and  yet,  in 
becoming  a  man,  he  must  be  both  what  he  is  and  is  not. 
But  clearly  a  thing  either  is  or  is  not.  The  difficulty  comes 
from  a  failure  in  analysis.  No  distinction  is  made  between 
an  ideal  thing  which  does  not  exist,  yet  may  come  to  exist  or 
have  existed,  and  the  real  moments  of  process  which  alone 
exist.    In  the  case  of  our  illustration,  only  the  tiny  present 


lOO  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

moment  of  growth,  a  flare  or  flash  of  becoming,  exists; 
whether  it  is  called  a  child  or  a  man  is  somewhat  arbitrary, 
depending  on  whether  there  are  more  of  the  childlike  or  the 
manly  quahties  in  it;  for  if  the  child  is  becoming  a  man, 
he  must  have  both;  but  the  man  which  he  will  become, 
and  equally  the  child  which  he  has  left  behind,  are  only 
expected  or  remembered  things,  purely  ideal,  which,  as  gone 
or  as  not  yet  realized,  simply  do  not  exist  at  all. 

The  recognition  that  the  new  always  grows  out  of  some- 
thing relatively  permanent  obviates  another  difficulty 
which  has  confronted  men  in  their  efforts  to  understand 
change.  Time  has  often  been  pictured  as  a  flaring  up  of 
existence  followed  by  an  extinction,  which  is  then  replaced 
by  a  new  existence,  and  so  on.  The  whole  world  had  to 
be  annihilated,  it  was  thought,  before  anything  new  could 
arise.  Then,  of  course,  the  problem  became  acute  as  to  how 
out  of  nothing  something  could  grow.  But  the  entire  con- 
ception is  false.  There  is  always  something  which  exists,  as 
we  have  seen,  out  of  which  the  new  is  born;  becoming 
springs  from  being,  not  being  from  non-being.  How  the  new 
springs  out  of  the  old  we  do  not  here  inquire  —  that  belongs 
to  the  topic  of  causation  —  we  simply  call  attention  to  the 
fact  that  it  grows  from  the  old.  Change  should  not  be  repre- 
sented by  a  series  of  totally  different  elements  like  a,  b,  c,  d, 
.  .  .,  but  rather  as  a,  ab,  be,  where  the  a's  and  the  b's  are 
identical  and  not  merely  similar. 

Thus  far  we  have  made  no  reference  to  the  so-called  parts 
of  time  —  past,  present  and  future,  and  for  the  reason  that, 
at  its  lowest  development,  the  temporal  experience  does  not 


TIME  lOI 

contain  them  explicitly.  Yet  the  beginnings  of  them  exist 
there.  The  dying  elements  contain  an  incipient  pastness, 
the  enduring  ones  are  the  core  of  the  present,  while  the  new, 
the  rising  ones,  are  oriented  in  the  direction  of  the  future. 
Novelty  is  the  mark  of  the  future,  familiarity  of  the  present, 
loss  of  the  past,  all  of  which  are  contained  implicitly  in  the 
immediate  experience  of  change.  For  the  full  develop- 
ment of  these  distinctions,  however,  reflection  is  required. 
Through  memory  and  expectation,  the  given  present  experi- 
ence must  be  conceived  to  be  related  to  two  realms  which, 
while  not  belonging  to  it,  may  nevertheless  be  represented, 
or  vicariously  contained,  in  it.  An  element  as  it  goes  leaves 
the  memory  of  itself.  In  so  far  as  this  abides  in  the  direct 
experience  and  endures,  it  is,  of  course,  a  part  of  the  present; 
yet  it  looks  to  the  element  which  leaves  it,  represents  it,  and 
places  it  in  the  ideal  region  which  we  call  the  past.  Again, 
when  an  element  recurs,  the  memory  of  it,  meeting  it  on  its 
return,  being  fulfilled  in  it  constantly,  becomes  an  expecta- 
tion of  it.  As  a  part  of  direct  experience,  as  given,  the  expec- 
tation is  present,  but  what  it  means,  that  to  which  it  looks 
to  fulfill  it,  is  not  given,  and  hence  is  conceived  to  belong  to 
another  realm  —  the  future.  Thus  the  development  of  the 
concept  of  time  involves  the  possibility  of  representation, 
of  memory  and  expectation. 

If  our  account  is  correct,  it  is  clear  that  any  attempt  to 
find  in  the  given  experience  of  change  all  properties  of  the 
complete  temporal  concept  is  futile.  The  distinctions  of  past 
and  future  are  not  contained  explicitly  in  the  elements 
which   belong   to   the   specious  present.     In   the   change- 


I02  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

experience,  as,  for  example,  in  the  melody  or  line  of  verse 
when  read,  there  are,  to  be  sure,  earlier  and  later,  coming 
and  going;  one  element  does  not  occupy  the  same  place  as 
another  in  the  temporal  sequence  and  one  is  more  forward 
or  more  backward  in  the  temporal  direction;  but  there  is  no 
"gone,"  no  "lost."  When  I  hear  a  line  of  verse,  taking  it 
in  at  once,  the  first  words  are  not  "over  and  done  with"  at 
the  moment  when  the  later  ones  arise ;  they  are  simply  be- 
hind and  fading,  but  not  faded,  passing,  but  not  past.  We 
experience  pastness  completely  only  when  we  reflectively 
experience  loss.  Awareness  of  differences  within  the  specious 
present,  or  even  of  a  change  of  these,  does  not  sufiice  for  the 
experience.  Elements  must  be  represented  as  absent  from 
the  specious  present,  as  excluded  from  all  that  we  imme- 
diately experience.  The  exclusiveness  of  past  and  present 
is,  therefore,  not  at  all  comparable  to  that  of  one  point  on  a 
line  with  reference  to  another.  For  there,  although  one 
point  is  different  from  another,  both  belong  to  the  same 
universe  of  discourse;  while  in  time  the  two  elements 
exclude  each  other  from  the  same  realm. 

We  must  now  extend  our  concept  of  time  beyond  the 
directly  knowable  and  existent  world  to  include  the  past 
and  future  as  parts.  What  are  the  past  and  the  future  ?  In 
the  first  place,  it  is  evident  that  they  are  non-existent. 
I  have  argued  this  at  length  in  another  publication, ^  to 
which  I  would  refer  the  reader  who  desires  a  more  com- 
plete study  of  the  matter.   We  know  that  past  and  future  do 

1  "  The  Metaphysics  of  Historical  Knowledge,"  University  of  California 
Publications  in  Philosophy. 


TIME  103 

not  exist,  because  we  observe  directly  disintegration  on  the 
one  hand  and  origination  on  the  other  hand.  Yet,  although 
past  and  future  do  not  qxist,  they  are  not  unrepresented  in 
reality;  for  we  possess  the  truth  about  them.  Every  event 
as  it  flares  up  into  existence  is  the  fulfillment  of  a  truth  which 
anticipated  it;  every  element  as  it  passes  from  existence 
leaves  behind  a  trail  which  is  the  historical  truth  that  it 
was.  Now  these  truths  are  the  other  parts  of  time  —  past 
and  future.  Whoever  conceives  of  the  specious  present  as 
having  developed  out  of  something  and  as  tending  toward 
something,  recognizes  these  ideal  worlds ;  short  of  recognition 
of  them,  one  is  left  with  the  given  moment  as  the  all. 

Now  the  being  of  these  ideal  worlds  puts  a  problem  to  the 
metaphysician,  the  consideration  of  which  we  shall  defer  to 
a  later  chapter;  here  it  must  suffice  to  make  plain  the 
recognition  of  them  by  everybody  who  possesses  a  developed 
conception  of  time.  Although  everybody  knows  that  the 
present  indivisible  moment  alone  exists,  everybody  never- 
theless thinks  of  time  as  some  sort  of  series,  and  of  processes 
as  occurring  in  stages,  one  following  another.  Everybody 
thinks  of  the  present  as  the  last  term  of  a  long,  perhaps  in- 
finite, sequence  of  events,  and  as  the  first  term  of  an  equally 
long,  and  again  perhaps  infinite,  procession  to  come. 

In  arguing  for  the  validity  of  a  conception  of  time  which 
carries  beyond  the  present,  we  do  not,  of  course,  defend  an 
absolute  time  independent  of  the  process  of  the  world.  Time 
is  entirely  relative  to  process;  there  could  be  no  time  if 
there  were  no  change.  Time  is  the  ideal  record  and  proph- 
ecy of  happenings,  of  the  order  of  their  rising  and  perish- 


I04  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

ing.  It  is  the  trail  left  by  the  world  in  its  movement  and  the 
path  which  it  is  destined  to  follow.  But  plainly,  without  the 
movement,  there  could  be  no  path. 

The  conception  of  time  as  a  series  has  been  criticized  by 
Bergson;  but  he  really  does  no  more  than  call  attention  to 
the  fact  that  the  present  or  given  flare  of  reality  is  no 
developed  series.  It  is  only  when  the  immediate  is  con- 
ceived in  relation  to  something  out  of  which  it  has  grown, 
but  which  it  is  no  longer,  and  as  developing  into  something 
which  it  has  not  attained,  that  the  series  comes  into  view. 
Then  clearly  one  thing  is  seen  to  follow  upon  another.  The 
immediate  is,  indeed,  an  indivisible  existence  with  just  the 
most  rudimentary  order  in  the  elements  which  it  holds  in 
solution;  but  time,  the  ideal  record  of  the  immediate,  is  not 
indivisible.  Every  history  or  biography  contains  stages. 
Consider  the  movement  of  a  body  in  space,  the  growth  of  an 
organism,  the  development  of  a  nation.  The  stages  are  con- 
tinuous, but  nevertheless  distinct ;  one  follows  upon  another, 
yet  one  is  not  another.  And  the  distinction  between  them  is 
not  arbitrary;  for  it  corresponds  to  a  distinction  between 
one  truth  and  another.  For  example,  to  distinguish  between 
one  position  of  a  body  in  motion  and  another  is  to  distin- 
guish between  one  truth  —  the  truth  that  it  was  at  a,  and 
another  truth  —  the  truth  that  it  was  at  b,  and  these  truths 
have  an  unequivocal  order.  The  stages  in  a  process  are, 
to  be  sure,  stages  in  its  history;  but  did  any  one  ever 
suppose  that  they  were  stages  in  anything  else  ?  Surely 
no  one  ever  thought  they  were  contained  in  the  specious 
present. 


TIME  105 

One  might,  however,  reply  to  this  that  the  arbitrariness  of 
the  stages  in  the  temporal  series  consists  in  the  arbitrariness 
of  the  truths  of  which  the  series  consists.  Take  motion  as 
the  simplest  case  of  change.  When  a  body  passes  from  a  to 
c,  going  through  h,  you  cannot  assert,  it  might  be  claimed, 
that  it  was  first  at  a,  then  at  h,  and  now  is  at  c,  thus  distin- 
guishing the  three  truths;  for  since  a  and  h,  and  b  and  c,  are 
contiguous,  they  cannot  be  distinguished  at  all.  Yet  surely 
you  can  distinguish  between  the  non-contiguous  points  a 
and  c,  and  hence  between  the  corresponding  truths  of 
motion ;  and,  beheving  as  we  do,  in  the  individuality  even  of 
contiguous  points,  there  must  be  a  valid  distinction  between 
being  at  a  and  being  at  h.  This  answer  involves,  of  course, 
a  defence  of  individuality,  which  we  shall  undertake  in  our 
chapter  on  relations.  But  grant  for  the  present  the  reality  of 
individuals,  and  the  distinction  between  the  one  truth  and 
the  other  follows.  That  a  thing  can  move,  can  get  from  one 
point  to  another,  is  an  irreducible  fact  of  observation ;  it  is 
just  the  fact  of  transition,  which  has  to  be  admitted  on  any 
view. 

There  are  still  two  facts  outstanding  which  might  seem  to 
tell  against  the  conception  of  time  as  a  series:  one  is  the  per- 
sistence of  elements  after  they  have  risen  into  existence 
along  with  the  new  ones  which  are  just  coming  in  —  what 
Bergson  calls  the  penetration  miituelle  des  elements;  the  other 
is  the  reappearance,  in  a  new  context,  of  elements  which 
existed  before  in  a  previous  one,  emphasized  by  us  in  our 
discussion  of  personal  identity.  These  facts  are,  indeed, 
fatal  to  any  conception  of  time  as  a  series  like  that  of  the 


Io6  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

points  on  a  line,  in  which  any  element,  if  it  occupies  a  given 
position  in  the  series,  is  necessarily  excluded  from  any  other. 
The  recurrence  of  elements  implies  that  an  element  which 
was  at  a  moment  of  time  in  the  past  may  now  be  present,  and 
even  future  also;  and  the  persistence  of  elements  requires 
that  neighboring  moments  have  common  parts. 

Yet  because  time  is  not  a  punctual  series,  it  does  not  follow 
that  it  is  no  series  at  all.  There  are  other  types  of  series. 
There  is  another  example  of  a  series  which  well  illustrates 
many  features  of  the  temporal  series.  Consider  a  series  of 
overlapping  areas  of  various  sizes.  Here  elements  of  space 
exist  identical  in  various  areas.  Yet  the  latter  may  be 
arranged  in  a  continuous  series.  Each  position,  that  is,  each 
whole  area,  is  unique;  but  the  parts  of  the  areas  are  not  all 
so;  some  will  run  through  the  entire  series.  The  positions 
in  the  series  are  distinguished  by  possessing,  or  not  possess- 
ing, elements  which  do  not,  or  do,  belong  to  the  others.  The 
properties  of  time  are  parallel.  The  "  moments,"  the  whole 
stages  or  cross  sections  of  the  world  process,  are  unique;  but 
their  elements  arenot  unique,  for  they  are  repeated  in  various 
wholes,  exist  at  various  ' '  times. ' '  The  wholes  are  always  dif- 
ferent, but  not  so  the  elements.  Take  the  mind  as  an  illus- 
tration. It  begins  its  career  as  a  definite  whole  of  elements. 
Growth  consists  in  a  continual  modification  of  this  whole 
through  the  loss  of  some  elements  and  the  gain  of  others. 
Personal  identity,  as  we  know,  may  be  more  or  less;  yet 
throughout  the  process  there  is  a  thread  of  sameness  by 
reason  of  which  a  man  is  the  same  man.  Hence,  although 
the  entire  momentary  state  of  an  individual   is   always 


TIME  107 

unique,  being  always  a  change  from  that  of  a  moment  ago, 
there  are  elements  of  this  whole  which  are  common  to 
many  moments,  and  even  some  which  recur  after  long  inter- 
vals. The  process  of  experience  is  a  continual  assimilation 
of  new  material  to  the  old,  and  an  effort  to  preserve  the  old, 
despite  constant  decay. 

The  conception  of  time  as  a  punctual  series  is  closely  con- 
nected with  the  theory  of  the  uniqueness  of  mental  states,  a 
theory  which  we  have  found  grounds  to  reject  because  of  its 
evident  contradiction  with  the  facts  of  personal  identity. 
For  if  mental  states  were  unique,  there  would  be  no  survival 
beyond  the  single  instant,  or  recurrence  after  an  interval; 
each  element  would  be  an  instantaneous  existence,  rising 
only  to  perish  forthwith. 

The  final  objection  may  be  made  that  an  element  cannot 
exist  at  different  moments;  for,  in  order  to  do  so,  it  would 
have  to  maintain  its  identity  despite  its  entrance  into  the 
new  relationships  involved  in  its  presence  in  a  new  context. 
A  thing  cannot  be  identical  in  different  relationships,  it  may 
be  claimed.  This  objection  rests  on  a  theory  of  relations 
which  we  shall  find  grounds  to  reject  in  our  chapter  devoted 
to  the  subject.  Let  it  suffice  here  to  call  attention  to  the 
truth  already  insisted  on,  that  partial  identity  is  a  fact  of 
direct  experience.  I  find  myself  to  be  partly  the  same,  as 
man  and  as  child,  before  and  after  entering  upon  new  duties, 
new  relationships.  No  logic,  we  repeat,  can  invaHdate  the 
truth  of  such  experiences. 

Time,  then,  is  a  series.  Every  series  is  a  class  of  elements 
between  which   there   exists  an   asymmetrical,   transitive 


Io8  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

relation.  What  are  the  elements  of  the  temporal  series  and 
what  is  the  relation  by  virtue  of  which  they  constitute  a 
series  ?  The  elements  are  ordinarily  conceived  to  be  events, 
happenings.  But,  as  we  have  seen,  only  those  events  exist 
which  belong  to  the  specious  present;  yet  all  other  events, 
such  as  Brutus's  deed  in  killing  Caesar,  are  members  of  time 
although  they  no  longer  exist.  All  except  an  infinitesimally 
small  segment  of  time  consists,  therefore,  not  of  real  events, 
but  of  the  truth  about  events.  Brutus  and  Caesar  are  no 
more;  but  the  truth  that  Brutus  killed  Caesar  abides;  now 
this  truth  is  the  object  of  history  and  the  genuine  element  of 
the  temporal  series.  The  past  state  out  of  which  a  thing  has 
grown  and  the  future  state  into  which  it  will  develop  are  not 
elements  of  the  temporal  order;  for  they  have  no  reality; 
but  the  truth  that  such  a  thing  was  and  the  truth  that  such 
another  thing  will  be  are  elements.    • 

Sometimes,  however,  the  elements  of  the  temporal  series 
are  conceived  to  be  not  events,  but  "moments."  Events  are 
at  moments,  it  is  claimed ;  they  acquire  their  temporal  char- 
acter through  this  relation ;  they  do  not  possess  it  in  them- 
selves. But  this  is  to  put  the  cart  before  the  horse;  for,  as 
we  have  seen,  there  is  no  time  apart  from  events.  Temporal- 
ity is  nothing  else  than  the  characteristic  property  of  proc- 
ess and  the  truths  which  are  generated  through  process.  A 
moment  has  no  existence  apart  from  the  events  which  are,  as 
we  say,  "  at  "  that  moment;  it  is,  as  we  shall  show  directly, 
nothing  but  a  level  of  events  —  a  class  of  correlated  hap- 
penings or  truths  about  happenings.  A  moment  has  no  more 
meaning  apart  from  the  events  which  are  at  it  than  the  class 


TIME  109 

man  has  meaning  apart  from  the  real  or  possible  men  which 
do,  or  may,  belong  to  it.  We  think  of  an  event  as  at  a  mo- 
ment rather  than  as  constituting  a  moment,  because  it  has  to 
be  taken  along  with  other  events  with  which  it  is  correlated 
in  the  temporal  series.  The  elements  of  time  are  rightly 
designated  events  rather  than  things,  meaning  by  event 
either  an  existing  occurrence  or  the  truth  about  one,  because 
event  implies  process,  which  is  the  genuine  element  of 
reahty  and  that  by  virtue  of  which  reahty  is  temporal; 
whereas  thing  denotes  simply  one  aspect  of  process  —  that 
of  stability  —  which,  although  involved  in  all  process,  does 
not  suffice  to  constitute  it. 

Such  are  the  elements  of  the  temporal  series.  What  now  is 
the  relation  between  them  through  which  they  constitute  a 
series  ?  The  difficulties  involved  in  the  answer  to  this  ques- 
tion have,  I  think,  usually  been  unrecognized.  They  arise 
from  the  fact  that  time  consists  of  two  parts  —  a  real  seg- 
ment, the  specious  present,  and  an  ideal  segment,  the  past 
and  future.  Within  the  specious  present,  the  order  of  events 
is  indubitable,  because  given  in  direct  experience.  I  find 
there  a  relation  between  occurrences  unique  in  quality,  a 
flashing  into  existence  of  events  one  after  another,  yet  in 
contact  with  one  another.  A  simple  sequence  of  a  few  tones 
^  is  an  illustration.  The  properties  of  transitivity  and  asyin- 
metry  which  characterize  the  relation  are  given  with  it.  I 
observe  that  ah  is  not  the  same  as  ba,  although  I  hold  both 
within  the  unity  of  the  present  moment ;  and  that  wherever 
a,  h,  c  occur  together  in  the  present  moment,  a  relation  of 
sequence  between  a  and  b,  and  between  b  and  c,  entails  a 


no  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

similar  relation  between  a  and  c.  But  only  a  small  part  of 
the  temporal  series  is  given  in  the  existing  moment.  Where, 
for  example,  abc  is  given,  cd  is  not  given.  How  shall  we  con- 
nect ab  with  d  ?  Here  of  course  memory  supplants  direct 
experience.  I  may  remember  that  c  was  before  d.  In  this 
way  it  is  easy  to  perceive  how  the  series  of  events  is  set  up. 
If  abc  are  in  contact  sequence  within  the  present  experience, 
and  cd  were  in  contact,  and  de,  and  ef,  .  .  .  then  I  can  form 
the  sequence  of  the  corresponding  truths,  a'  b'  c'  d'  e'  f.  .  .  . 
When  events  cannot  be  observed  and  remembered  to  be  in 
sequential  contact,  their  order  is  established  by  analogy  and 
induction  in  the  fashion  familiar  to  students  of  nature  and  of 
history.  But  now,  although  it  is  easy  to  understand  how  the 
time-series  is  actually  set  up  in  the  minds  of  men,  the  prob- 
lem remains,  what  as3anmetrical  transitive  relation  holds 
between  its  members  ?  There  was  a  real  relation  of  sequen- 
tial contact  between  the  elements  in  each  pulse  of  existence, 
between  a  and  b,  b  and  c,  c  and  d,  d  and  e,  e  and  /;  but 
there  never  was  such  a  relation  between  a  and  c,  c  and  e,  d 
and/.  For  when  a  existed,  c  was  not  yet,  and  when  c  was,  e 
had  not  yet  come  to  be.  For  example,  there  is  not,  nor  ever 
was,  a  real  relation  between  Brutus's  deed  and  Charlotte 
Corday's;  there  cannot  be  one  now,  for  neither  deed  exists; 
and  there  never  was  one,  for  the  two  were  never  together  in 
existence.  When,  therefore,  we  put  them  both  in  the  series 
and  conceive  of  one  as  being  before  another  in  that  series, 
what  exactly  do  we  mean  ?  We  do,  of  course,  put  events 
into  an  order  in  the  way  that  I  have  described  and  call  that 
the  temporal  order;   but  we  do  not  thereby  estabhsh  any 


TIME  1 1 1 

objective  relations  between  them.  If  the  whole  of  time 
formed  one  existing  moment,  this  problem  would  not  arise; 
for  then  the  real  relation  of  contact  sequence  would  hold 
between  any  two  members;  but  this,  we  know,  is  contrary 
to  fact.  What  objective  relation,  we  ask  once  more,  holds 
between  non-contiguous  members  of  the  time-series  ?  Is 
there  any,  or  is  the  series  an  artificial  one,  created  by 
the  mind  ? 

It  may  perhaps  be  suggested  that  the  relation  which  we 
seek  is  causation.  The  fact  that  the  Crucifixion  preceded 
St.  Augustine's  change  of  heart  may,  for  example,  be  equiv- 
alent to  the  causal  relation  between  the  two  events.  Yet, 
it  is  impossible  to  maintain  that  remote  events  are  cause 
and  effect  of  one  another.  Causation  is  a  real  process ;  only 
that  which  exists  can  bring  something  else  into  existence; 
the  real  grows  from  the  real,  not  from  the  non-existent. 
Only  so  much  of  a  past  moment  as  survives  into  the  present 
is  effective  in  producing  the  new  events  which  grow  out  of 
each  present.  Hence  the  problem  of  the  relation  of  remote 
whole  moments  to  each  other  remains.  They  produce  each 
its  succeeding  moment,  but  non-contiguous  whole  moments 
cannot  be  causally  related. 

Yet  that  events  have  characters  which,  when  imaged  in 
the  truths  which  replace  them,  afford  a  basis  for  a  series  is 
known  to  every  student  of  history  and  nature.  Organized 
bodies  form  an  order  in  accordance  with  the  principle  of 
increasing  complexity;  personal  and  historical  events  are  a 
teleological  sequence,  one  situation  being  the  fulfillment  of 
the  purposes  of  another  and  becoming  in  turn  the  basis  for 


112  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

new  developments.  Even  if  we  did  not  know  the  order  of 
the  events  of  a  man's  Hfe,  as  set  up  in  the  way  defined  above 
through  the  succession  of  adjoining  moments,  we  could 
establish  it  through  their  teleological  significance.  The 
biographer  who  seeks  to  understand  a  Hfe  strives  to  discover 
just  such  an  order.  And  in  so  far  as  the  student  of  economic 
or  cultural  development  undertakes  to  find  laws  for  this 
development,  he  is  doing  the  same  thing  —  looking  to  estab- 
lish among  recorded  events  characters  which  define  objective 
relations.  And  physical  and  chemical  laws  —  such  as  en- 
tropy, for  example  —  which  aim  at  describing  real  sequences 
tend  to  the  same  end.  The  temporal  order  is  never  under- 
stood until  objective  relations,  transitive  and  asymmetrical, 
are  discovered  among  its  elements. 

Now  that  we  know  that  time  is  a  series,  let  us  inquire  into 
its  properties.  In  the  first  place,  the  series  is  a  simple  one. 
That  this  is  true  within  the  mmd  of  the  individual  is 
obvious;  for  time  is  there  one  onward  flow.  But  time  is  not 
a  merely  individual  affair,  relative  to  each  biography.  There 
are,  of  course,  the  many  temporal  processes,  as  many  as 
there  are  individuals  in  the  universe;  but  there  is  only  one 
time.  Yet  how  can  time  be  single,  when  it  is  nothing  apart 
from  processes,  nothing  in  itself  ? 

The  one  time  is  the  series  which  results  from  the  correla- 
tion of  the  many  processes.  The  principle  of  the  correlation 
is  this:  those  stages  of  individual  processes  are  correlative 
which  exist  or  existed  together.  To  ask  what  events  are 
contemporaneous  with  a  given  existing  event  is  to  ask  what 
other  events  exist.    These  constitute  a  now  or  moment.    Co- 


TIME  113 

existence  is  discovered  through  the  processes  of  observa- 
tion, memory  and  induction,  just  as  succession  is.  If  we 
can  observe  existence,  we  can  observe  co-existence.  We  can 
observe,  for  example,  the  co-existence  of  many  visual  or 
other  sensations.  We  can  remember  to  have  observed  the 
co-existence  of  sun  and  moon  in  the  sky  on  such  and  such  a 
day.  We  reason  to  non-observable  co-existences  after  the 
analogy  of  what  we  find  to  be  habitual  in  our  own  minds. 
Having  observed  the  regular  co-existence  of  c,  b,  and  c,  we 
infer,  after  observing  a  and  b,  that  c  must  also  have  been 
there. 

Russell  has  objected  to  theories  such  as  ours  which  explain 
time  as  the  abstraction  from  the  correlation  and  order  of 
processes  that,  since  events  form  a  many-one  series  —  many 
events  being  co-present  at  a  single  moment  —  there  must  be 
an  objective  and  independent  order,  through  correlation  with 
which  events  derive  theirs.  This  independent  order  would 
be,  of  course,  so-called  absolute  time.  Co-presence,  it  is 
asserted,  is  always  co-presence  at  a  given  time;  the  corre- 
lation of  events  with  one  another  takes  place  only  through 
their  prior  correlation  with  absolute  time;  events  are  cor- 
related with  reference  to  time  —  time  is  not  the  abstract 
for  their  correlation. 

Yet  this  argument  no  more  proves  the  independent  exist- 
ence of  time  apart  from  processes  than  Russell's  definition  of 
cardinal  number  proves  the  existence  of  the  number-series 
independent  of  numerable  things  and  classes.  Sameness  of 
cardinal  number  is  defined  by  means  of  similarity  of  classes, 
those  classes  which  can  be  correlated  through  a  one-one 


114  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

relation  having  the  same  cardinal  number.  But  sameness 
of  cardinal  number  does  not  depend  on  the  prior  existence  of 
cardinal  numbers;  rather  conversely,  the  latter  depend  for 
their  being  on  the  existence  of  similar  classes,  of  which  they 
are  the  abstract  conception.  Similarly,  the  co-presence  of 
events  is  not  determined  through  relation  to  a  moment 
of  time  which  has  being  independent  of  them ;  a  moment  of 
time  is  simply  the  class  of  events  which  bear,  or  bore,  to  one 
another  the  relation  of  co-existence.  Only  after  a  moment 
has  been  defined  through  this  correlation,  can  we  speak  of 
events  as  being  at  the  same  moment.  A  given  moment  is 
nothing  but  a  level  of  events.  Events  are  co-present  simply 
because  they  co-exist  or  have  co-existed.  A  particular 
moment  in  the  series  at  which  something  occurs  is  deter- 
minable only  with  reference  to  other  levels  of  co-existence, 
either  as  preceding  or  succeeding;  it  has  no  absolute  position 
independent  of  the  events  which  belong  there.  Absolute 
time,  therefore,  is  of  precisely  the  same  type  of  being  as  the 
number-series  —  it  is  purely  ideal. 

Yet  Russell's  defence  of  absolute  time  has  value  against  all 
views  of  time  as  subjective.  The  correlation  and  order  of 
processes  is  not  a  matter  of  arbitrary,  personal  taste,  but  is 
based  on  objective  characters  of  them.  If  this  is  true,  we 
have  next  to  inquire  whether  the  relation  of  co-existence 
which  defines  the  correlation  of  events  is  an  ideal  or  a  real 
one.  Is  it  like  the  relation  of  similarity  between  two  colors 
or  is  it  like  the  relation  of  equilibrium  between  two  masses 
in  a  scale  ?  In  either  case,  however,  the  relation  would  be 
objective  —  independent  of  mere  point  of  view  and  coercive 


TIME  1 1 5 

on  the  understanding;  for,  as  we  shall  show,  even  ideal  rela- 
tions are  based  on  facts  as  stubborn  as  any  others,  and  just 
as  independent  of  mind.  Here,  I  think,  two  different 
theories  can  be  entertained.  One  may  hold  either  that  co- 
existence is  merely  the  possession  of  a  common  character 
—  that  of  existence,  in  which  case  the  relation  would  be 
ideal,  and  independent  beings,  if  there  were  such,  might 
belong  to  the  same  moment  of  time;  or  else  co-existence 
involves  contact,  in  which  case  the  relation  would  be  a  real 
one,  and  there  could  be  no  independent  beings.  Of  these 
views,  the  former  is,  I  think,  the  true  one.  Co-existence 
does  not  involve  contact,  logically.  I  can  conceive  of  things 
as  co-existing  without  contact.  Co-existence  is  the  simpler 
fact,  which  contact  implies.  Mere  co-existence  is,  then,  an 
ideal  relation;  it  is  simply  the  possession  of  a  common 
character  —  existence;  it  is  one  kind  of  similarity.  On  the 
other  hand,  we  are  certain  of  this  —  there  are  no  co-existing 
individuals  known  to  us  v/hich  are  not  in  contact;  for,  in 
order  to  be  known,  they  must  either  be  in  direct  contact  with 
the  self  which  finds  them,  or  else  in  indirect  contact  through 
one  another.  The  co-present  elements  of  our  world,  at  any 
rate,  are  in  contact. 

A  relation  similar  to  that  between  co-existence  and  con- 
tact holds  between  sequence  and  causation.  It  seems  at 
first  sight  as  if  a  real  sequence  of  elements  a  and  b  does  not 
imply  that  a  is  the  cause  of  b.  Once  more,  the  temporal  rela- 
tion seems  to  be  the  simpler  —  causation  implies  it,  but  not 
vice  versa;  b  may  follow  a,  we  think,  without  a  being  the 
cause  of  b.    Yet  so  far  as  the  sequence  of  events  in  any 


Il6  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

individual  whole  is  concerned,  this  is  not  true;  if  b  follows 
a,  it  grows  out  of  a,  is  caused  by  a.  No  event  can  happen  to 
me,  for  example,  unless  it  grows  out  of  my  present  life.  Yet 
cannot  an  event  happen  to  you  without  my  participation  as 
cause  ?  The  answer  to  this  involves  a  causal  problem  — 
whether  in  any  causal  sequence  the  entire  universe  of  exist- 
ing elements  is  involved,  or  whether  this  activity  is  restricted 
to  a  part  only.  We  shall  try  to  show  that  the  fact  of  inter- 
action involves,  not  directly,  but  mediately,  through  the 
causal  processes  in  neighboring  individuals,  the  participa- 
tion of  every  individual  in  any  individual  causal  process. 
Hence  sequence  without  causation  — -  in  a  world  of  contigu- 
ous elements,  the  only  world  that  we  know  — •  is  impossible. 
It  would  be  possible  only  in  a  world  of  elements  which  were 
not  in  contact. 

Hence,  in  the  world  which  we  know,  there  are  no  independ- 
ent processes.  The  stream  of  existence  wells  up  inside  of 
relatively  isolated  centers  and  is  divided  into  many  distinct 
eddies;  yet  nature  and  the  mind  overlap  and  all  nature  is 
one  flux.  We  got  at  the  simplicity  of  time  through  the  cor- 
relation of  processes  co-existent  and  sequent;  but  we  might 
have  derived  it  from  the  singleness  of  our  world  process. 

The  most  impressive  of  all  the  properties  of  time  is  per- 
haps its  lack  of  double  points.  No  moment  is  at  once  past 
and  future  to  any  other.  Each  divides  the  others  into  two 
mutually  exclusive  classes,  the  past  and  the  future.  Time 
does  not  at  any  point  turn  back  on  its  course;  time  is 
irreversible,  the  past  is  irrevocable.  Hence  the  sadness  of 
the  time  process.   This  feature  of  time  is  not  annulled  by  the 


TIME  117 

fact,  to  which  we  have  called  repeated  attention,  that  much 
of  the  past  is  bom  anew  into  the  present;  for  the  complete 
past  returns  not  again.  There  are  no  totally  recurrent  or 
reversible  processes.  Cyclical  processes  are  really  only 
partly  such;  for  the  co-existence  of  unlike  phases  of  other 
such  processes,  and  of  irreversible  processes,  renders  the 
former  also,  because  of  the  unity  of  nature,  not  absolutely 
recurrent.  Nowhere,  either  in  space  or  in  time,  do  we  meet 
with  the  exact  similarity  of  any  whole;  some  aspects  of 
a  whole  are  found  alike,  but  invariably  others  differ.  By 
reason  of  the  influence  of  the  whole  of  reality  upon  any  one 
of  its  parts,  in  order  for  any  part  of  a  contemporaneous 
world  to  be  exactly  like  any  part  of  a  preceding  epoch,  two 
entire  cross  sections  of  time  would  have  to  be  alike;  but  this 
is  impossible. 

The  uniqueness  of  moments  follows  clearly  from  the  fol- 
lowing facts.  First,  there  is  the  unity  of  process:  the  future 
grows  out  of  the  present,  yet  in  doing  so  does  not  annihilate 
the  entire  present;  but,  although  displacing  part  of  it, 
grafts  itself  upon  the  permanent  in  it  and  exists  along  with  it 
in  one  indivisible  whole.  Elements  which  are  in  contradic- 
tion with  the  abiding  part  of  the  present  cannot,  therefore, 
recur.  Now  much  of  the  past  is  of  this  character.  One's 
own  boyhood,  for  example,  could  not  recur;  for,  in  order  to 
do  so,  it  would  have  to  grow  out  of  manhood,  and  so  exist 
along  with  it  in  an  instantaneous  whole;  we  with  our  knowl- 
edge and  disillusionment  would  have  to  be  ignorant  and 
hopeful  as  well.  And  this,  of  course,  could  not  be;  for  to 
be  a  boy  depends  upon  having  just  those  limitations  which 


Il8  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

would  be  destroyed  if  our  being  were  to  flow  together  with 
his  —  knowledge  and  ignorance  cannot  co-exist. 

But  might  not  the  reinstatement  of  the  past  be  gradual  ? 
The  unity  of  reality  prevents  only  the  sudden  and  entire 
recurrence  of  the  past.  If  the  lost  elements  were  gradually 
replaced  and  the  new  ones  gradually  fell  away,  might  not  the 
old  finally  recur  in  its  pristine  completeness  ?  Might  not 
various  areas  in  our  graph  of  time  be  repeated,  not  once  only, 
but  often  in  the  course  of  time's  infinity  ?  There  would 
be  a  sort  of  universal  alternation  of  generations,  the  same 
roles  in  the  world  drama  being  impersonated  over  and  over 
again.  Why  should  the  image  of  time  be  a  straight  line 
rather  than  a  curve  which  returns  upon  itself  ? 

Yet  reality,  by  its  very  nature,  renders  this  impossible. 
Reality  is  organic;  its  changes  are  pervasive  and  cumula- 
tive; and,  although  it  may  decline  and  fall  back  to  the 
general  character  of  a  preceding  stage,  the  new  stage  will 
nevertheless  bear  traces  of  the  intervening  development, 
which  will  differentiate  it  from  the  earHer  one.  A  differ- 
ence in  position  in  the  temporal  series  necessitates  a  dif- 
ference in  character,  just  because  each  overlies  a  different 
range  of  events  preceding.  A  moving  body,  for  example, 
cannot  be  exactly  the  same  after  passing  through  points  b 
and  c  as  it  was  at  a;  for  the  being  at  these  other  points  must 
have  affected  its  nature,  and  this  effect  is,  partly  at  least, 
indelible. 

Another  property  of  the  temporal  series  is  infinity;  by 
which  I  mean  that  before  each  moment  of  the  past  another 
moment  can  be  found,  and  that  after  the  present  moment 


TIME  119 

there  will  always  be  another  moment.  In  other  words,  there 
was  no  first  moment  and  there  will  not  be  a  last. 

Ex  nihilo  nihil  fit  is  the  ancient  and  sujfficient  reason 
against  the  supposition  of  a  first  moment.  Every  event  that 
we  know  is  an  outgrowth,  the  coming  to  be  of  which  was 
determined  by  something  already  existing.  But  a  first 
moment  of  time  would  imply  the  existence  of  something 
from  which  all  other  things  have  originated,  but  which 
itself  came  from  nothing  —  that  is,  just  came  to  be  without 
cause,  or  else  always  was,  never  had  an  origin  at  all.  Now 
in  either  case  the  thing  in  question  would  be  wholly  excep- 
tional. Everything  of  which  we  have  knowledge  is  a  hap- 
pening and  had  an  origin ;  a  static  existence  or  an  existence 
causa  sui  we  know  nothing  of. 

For  similar  reasons  time  can  have  no  end.  In  order  for 
time  to  have  an  end,  the  universe  would  either  have  to  cease 
to  be  or  else  arrive  at  a  final  state  of  quiescence.  But  that 
the  universe  cannot  die  is  clear  from  the  following  considera- 
tions. The  death  of  anything  is  always  determined  by  some 
other  thing  which  is  rendered  more  stable  in  consequence; 
disintegration  is  always  relative  to  growth;  it  is  unthink- 
able that  anything  should  perish  of  itself.  To  be  sure,  all 
existence  tends,  as  we  have  seen,  to  pass  away  —  existence 
has  a  leak  in  it,  as  Plato  says  —  yet  its  passing  is  never 
separate  from  persistence  and  new  orgination.  A  thing  can 
perish  only  through  a  conflict  of  its  own  elements  or  a  con- 
flict with  external  forces.  But  in  each  case  some  elements 
are  strengthened :  in  the  former,  certain  of  its  own ;  in  the 
latter,  part  of  its  environment.   The  universe  can,  therefore, 


120  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

never  come  to  an  end;  for  of  external  enemies  it  has  none, 
and  the  disruption  of  some  of  its  parts  is  relative  to  the 
growth  of  the  rest.  And,  to  consider  the  other  alternative, 
the  universe  cannot  arrive  at  a  state  of  quiescence;  for  ex- 
perience involves  activity,  a  seeking  for  something  new,  a 
striving  for  an  end. 

Fourth,  time  is  usually  conceived  to  be  continuous.  Now 
by  continuity  we  commonly  mean  many  things  which  ought 
to  be  carefully  distinguished.  We  mean,  in  the  first  place, 
that  the  succession  of  events,  of  which  time  is  the  form,  does 
not,  as  we  have  insisted  so  often,  consist  of  elements  which 
exclude  each  other  from  existence;  but  that  each  new  ele- 
ment, as  it  rises,  finds  the  ground  already  occupied,  grafts 
itself  upon  the  relatively  permanent  there  and  lingers,  exist- 
ing along  with  other  things  in  their  turn  new.  The  series  is 
not  one  of  existences  following  upon  non-existences;  but  of 
novelties  rising  into  a  world  already  there. 

In  the  second  place,  we  mean  by  the  continuity  of  time 
that  there  are  no  gaps,  no  empty  places  in  the  series.  To  our 
immediate  experience,  time  seems  to  be  continuous  in  this 
sense  also;  for  to  it,  even  the  phenomena  of  sleep  and  swoon- 
ing are  changes,  not  lapses.  Introspection  has  no  means  of 
answering  Lock's  question  whether  the  soul  always  thinks. 
Left  to  itself  in  its  backward  search,  it  can  find  only  experi- 
ences which  succeed  and  overlap  each  other.  One  could 
not  experience  a  lapse  in  consciousness;  for  to  do  so  would 
necessitate  that  one  experience  one's  own  non-existence  — 
the  very  conception  of  which  is  self-contradictory.  We 
come  to  believe  in  gaps,  first,  from  the  reports  of  our  fellow 


TIME  121 

men  who  tell  us  that  their  own  lives  were  awake  and  moving 
while  ours  were  still  and  asleep.    When  we  correlate  individ- 
ual streams  of  consciousness,  we  see  that  to  elements  of  one 
there  correspond  no  elements  of  others.    Second,  the  obser- 
vation, after  sleep,  that  recurrent  physical  processes  have 
seemingly  skipped  those  intermediaries  which  we  expect 
normally  to  occur  confirms  our  belief.    We  prefer  to  regard 
our  own  lives  as  discontinuous  rather  than  nature's,  because 
we  have  learned  to  think  of  her  as  having  an  existence  and 
habit  superior  to  our  own.    But  the  existence  of  these  gaps 
in  the  lives  of  individuals  does  not  prove  the  discontinuity  of 
time ;  for  they  are  gaps  only  because  there  exist  facts  in  the 
minds  of  other  men,  or  in  nature,  to  which  they  can  be  corre- 
lated;   and  wherever  there  are  events,  no  matter  where, 
there  is  time  —  time  is  the  order  of  whatever  events  there 
happen  to  be.    There  is  time  between  phases  of  an  individ- 
ual's mind,  because  there  are  other  events  to  which  none 
correspond  in  this  particular  mind;    but  there  is  no  time 
between  times,  no  empty  time;    for  where  there  are  no 
events,  there  is  not  empty  time,  there  is  —  nothing.    Upon 
the  broad  stream  of  existence  are  carried  many  eddies  which 
come  and  go  and  form  anew;   but  their  discontinuity  does 
not  make  the  time-stream  itself  discontinuous;   for  its  flow 
is  just  its  changing  existence,  which  always  is. 

In  the  third  place,  we  may  mean  by  the  continuity  of  time 
that  time  possesses  those  characteristics  which  make  of  any 
series  what  mathematicians  call  a  continuum.  In  such  a 
series,  there  are  an  infinite  number  of  elements  between  any 
two,  and  every  infinite  sequence  contains  a  limit  in  the 


122  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

series.  The  temporal  series  is  supposed  to  have  the  same 
structure  as  the  points  on  a  line.  This  assumption  about 
time  is  employed  in  kinematics  and  dynamics  in  the  treat- 
ment of  motion,  and  in  mathematical  physics  generally.  All 
physical  processes  are  measured  in  terms  of  motions,  and 
motions  are  assumed  to  be  continuous  because  space,  over 
which  motion  proceeds,  is  supposed  to  be  continuous. 

It  is  clear  that  the  continuity  of  time,  in  this  sense,  is  a 
hypothesis  and  not  an  observed  fact.  No  one  has  ever 
observed  continuity  either  in  space  or  in  motion.  And  in  the 
changes  which  take  place  within  the  mind,  it  is  impossible  to 
find  an  infinity  of  elements.  Observe  as  well  as  we  can,  we 
discover  minimum  waves  of  change,  one  after  another,  a  dis- 
crete series.  Just  as  there  is  a  minimum  visihile  of  space,  so 
there  is  a  minimum  sensibile  of  change.  Yet  the  fact  that  the 
changes  within  the  mind  are  a  discrete  series  does  not 
prove  that  time  itself  is  discrete.  For  time,  we  know,  is  not 
the  order  of  any  individual  process,  but  that  series  which 
results  from  the  correlation  of  all  processes.  Now  it  may 
very  well  be  that,  correlated  with  the  discrete  changes  within 
the  mind,  there  are  an  infinite  number  of  changes  in  nature, 
and  the  fact  that  through  the  assumption  of  continuity 
science  so  well  handles  physical  events  makes  this  very  prob- 
able. If  this  is  true,  then  the  temporal  order,  being  the 
order  which  results  from  the  correlation  of  all  processes, 
is  continuous  in  the  mathematical  sense  of  the  term,  and 
to  the  discrete  pulses  of  consciousness  we  must  ascribe  a 
duration  measured  by  the  continuous  and  parallel  changes 
in  nature. 


TIME  123 

We  are  thus  brought  to  the  fifth  property  which  is  usually 
ascribed  to  time,  and  the  last  which  we  shall  consider  — 
duration.  Just  as  any  segment  of  a  straight  line  is  not  only 
an  order  of  elements  but  a  length,  so  any  part  of  time,  it  is 
said,  is  not  only  an  order  of  changes  but  a  length  of  time  — 
a  quantitative,  measurable  thing,  a  duration.  But  what  is 
duration  ?  What  do  we  mean  when  we  say  that  anything 
lasts  long  ?  And  how  can  we  determine  the  amount  of  this  ? 

Duration  is  derived  from  a  fact  to  which  we  have  often 
called  attention,  namely,  that  certain  events  exist  along 
with  the  rise  and  fall  of  others.  Reality  has  breadth,  a  cross 
section,  as  it  were;  it  is  of  strands  interwoven ;  it  is  never  a 
single  thread.  Of  themselves,  elements  either  exist  or  do  not 
exist;  they  endure  when  their  existence  is  correlated  with 
the  coming  and  going  of  other  elements.  If  it  were  not  for 
this  correlation  with  parallel  happenings,  elements  would 
not  have  duration,  but  only  existence.  The  durational 
quality  is  a  derivative  of  the  correlation.  This  does  not 
imply  that  duration  is  not  real;  for  a  quality  which  depends 
on  relation  is  quite  as  real  as  any  other;  and  we  actually 
observ'e  duration  as  a  character  of  temporally  related  ele- 
ments of  reality. 

The  quantity  of  duration  is  also  determined  through  cor- 
relation. An  element  endures  or  lasts  long  when  it  is  co- 
existent with  the  emergence  or  passage  of  many  other 
elements;  it  is  evanescent  when  its  existence  is  parallel  to 
only  a  few  happenings.  Two  elements  last  the  same  length 
of  time  when  the  existence  of  both  is  correlated  with  the 
same  number  of  parallel  happenings;  one  lasts  longer  than 


124  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

another  when  to  the  existence  of  the  latter  there  are  corre- 
lated fewer  happenings  than  to  the  existence  of  the  former. 
Duration  is  improperly  ascribed  to  the  intervals  between 
events,  just  as  if  there  were  something  ^  absolute  time  — 
besides  events;  it  really  belongs  to  whatever  exists  parallel 
with  them.  Thus  when  we  listen  to  the  beating  of  a  met- 
ronome and  speak  of  the  duration  of  the  interv^al  between 
any  two  beats,  we  are  really  talking  about  the  duration  of 
the  listening  and  expecting  self  which  exists  along  with 
them. 

Apart  from  the  correlation  of  happenings,  there  is  nothing 
objective  about  duration  within  the  field  of  mind.  A  process 
of  the  same  length  as  another  —  that  is,  one  determined  to 
be  of  the  same  length  through  correlation  with  other  proc- 
esses —  may  nevertheless  seem  to  be  shorter  or  longer 
according  to  purely  subjective  conditions  of  interest,  atten- 
tion, expectation  and  the  like.  To  discover  the  "  real 
length  "  of  a  process  we  always  resort  to  the  test  of  correla- 
tion; we  compare  it  with  the  ticking  of  a  clock  or  the 
passage  of  sand  through  the  opening  of  an  hourglass. 

When  we  pass  beyond  consciousness  to  the  sphere  of 
nature  and  the  ideal  realm  of  past  and  future,  the  same 
treatment  of  duration  in  terms  of  correlation  presents  itself 
as  the  only  possible  one.  The  length  of  time  of  any  process 
is  measured  in  terms  of  some  other  process.  If  they  begin 
simultaneously  and  the  one  ceases  before  the  other,  the  first 
is  shorter  than  the  second,  and  conversely;  if  they  end  to- 
gether, they  are  of  equal  duration.  For  example,  the  length 
of  time  which  the  earth  takes  to  complete  its  orbit  is  said  to 


TIME  125 

be  twelve  times  as  long  as  the  length  of  time  required  by 
the  moon  to  make  her  revolution  around  the  earth;  which 
means  that  twelve  revolutions  of  the  moon  are  correlated 
with  only  one  of  the  earth.  Or  to  say  that  the  life  of  one 
man  was  longer  than  another  can  mean  only  that  the  exist- 
ence of  the  one  was  correlated  with  more  revolutions  of  the 
earth.  The  length  of  time  between  any  two  events  is  also  no 
absolute  thing  independent  of  events,  but  the  number  of 
other  events  which  intervene  between  the  two  in  question. 
The  duration  of  the  interval  between  the  birth  of  Christ  and 
the  fall  of  the  Roman  Empire  is  nothing  but  the  number  of 
solar  revolutions  which  intervened.  What  else  could  it  be  ? 
For  besides  the  events,  there  is  nothing. 

The  duration  of  any  process  is,  then,  relative  to  the 
number  of  some  other  process  with  which  its  existence  is 
correlated.  Hence,  since  nature  is  a  whole  and  there  are  no 
independent  processes,  we  may,  as  Mach  has  shown,  replace 
t  in  physical  equations  by  the  path  of  the  earth  in  its  solar 
revolution,  or  by  any  other  parallel  process,  provided  we 
know  the  law  of  the  concomitant  variations.  And  this  is 
exactly  what,  for  all  practical  purposes,  is  done.  The  t  of 
physical  equations,  like  all  other  expressions  for  so-called 
absolute  time,  is  just  a  symbol  for  the  correlation  of  events. 

It  is  often  objected  to  this  theory  of  duration  that  if  the 
rate  of  the  earth's  solar  revolution  should  alter,  then  the 
duration  of  any  process  measured  in  terms  of  it  would  have 
to  change  also,  even  if  the  process  in  question  had  not  itself 
changed  at  all.  But  the  objection  overlooks  the  truth  that 
the  rate  of  the  process  to  be  measured  can  itself  be  defined 


126  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

only  in  terms  of  a  correlation  with  some  other  motion;  that 
duration  and  rate  of  change  are  purely  relative.  If,  relative 
to  the  earth's  motion,  a  man's  life  measured  one  hundred 
and  forty,  instead  of  seventy  years,  it  would  be  true  to  say 
that  he  lived  twice  as  long;  provided  only  that  when  he  came 
to  measure  the  number  of  his  years  by  some  other  parallel 
process,  he  did  not  find,  in  terms  of  the  latter,  that  his  years 
were  as  many  as  heretofore.  But  if,  when  measured  in  terms 
of  this  process  and  every  other,  he  found  the  same  doubling, 
then  his  life  would  actually  be  twice  as  long  as  it  was  before. 
And  he  would  experience  this  to  be  true  —  his  feeling  for 
duration  would  report  it.  A  farmer  who  crowded  into  his 
life  twice  as  many  sowings  and  reapings  would  feel,  provided 
the  other  events  of  his  life  were  also  doubled,  that  his  life 
was  twice  as  long.  And  to  pose  as  an  objection  to  the  rela- 
tivity of  duration  the  question,  what  would  happen  if  the 
rate  of  change  of  all  processes  were  to  be  altered  alike  — 
would  real  duration  be  altered  ?  shows  that  the  inquirer  has 
not  yet  grasped  the  truth  that  the  rate  of  a  process  has  no 
meaning  except  with  reference  to  some  other  process,  and 
that  therefore  the  rate  of  all  processes  has  no  meaning  at  all ; 
for  there  is  no  further  process  with  which  to  compare  them. 
Rate  of  change  has  no  meaning  when  applied  to  the  process 
of  the  universe  as  a  whole;  but  only  with  reference  to 
part  processes  defined  in  relation  to  one  another. 

Bergson,  who  believes  that  there  is  something  real  in 
duration  apart  from  correlation,  seeks  to  make  this  convinc- 
ing by  putting  the  question,  why  does  not  the  future  come 
to  be  all  at  once  ?   If  duration  were  not  real  in  itself,  what 


TIME  1 27 

would  prevent  the  crowding  of  the  events  of  a  day  into  a 
second,  and  if  into  a  second,  then  into  an  infinitesimally 
small  part  of  a  second  —  into  an  instant  ?  To  this  we 
answer,  in  the  first  place,  that  no  argument  of  ours  has 
done  anything  to  destroy  the  subjective  determinants  of 
the  sense  of  duration.  The  seeming  long  and  the  seeming 
short  of  processes  must  always  exist  and  vary  while  there  is 
interest,  expectation,  impatience.  But  these  factors,  we 
insist,  are  not  independent  of  the  order  and  mutual  correla- 
tion of  events,  upon  which  the  objective  durational  quaHty 
of  reality  depends.  To  hasten  or  postpone  an  event  means, 
objectively,  to  change  its  order  relatively  to  other  events; 
to  bring  it  before  or  after  other  events  which  usually  inter- 
vene and  are  expected.  If  I  expect  my  friend  in  the  evening 
and  he  hastens  his  coming  and  appears  at  noon,  this  means 
simply  that  certain  events  which  I  had  expected  to  precede 
his  coming  now  follow  it.  To  have  to  wait  for  an  event,  to 
say  of  it  that  a  certain  length  of  time  will  elapse  before  it 
occurs,  means  that  certain  other  phenomena  will  inevitably 
intervene  to  consciousness.  So  long  as  events  do  not  occur 
simultaneously,  but  in  a  determinate  order,  they  cannot 
happen  instantaneously;  and  an  event  which  comes  after 
another  expected  event  will  always  seem  to  take  a  longer 
time  in  coming;  whether  it  takes  an  hour  or  a  second  has 
meaning  only  with  reference  to  parallel  processes,  in  the 
fashion  already  explained.  Finally,  in  accordance  with  what 
we  have  estabHshed,  it  would  be  senseless  to  talk  about  the 
length  of  time  necessary  for  the  coming  to  be  of  the  entire 
future,  because  duration  has  no  meaning  when  applied  to 


128  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

the  world  process,  but  only  when  applied  to  part  processes 
measured  in  terms  of  one  another.  There  is,  likewise,  no 
meaning  to  such  an  expression  as  "  the  duration  of  past 
time  ";  for  time  —  the  array  which  results  from  the  final 
correlation  and  ordering  of  all  events  —  has  itself  no  dura- 
tion ;  only  separate  sequences,  which  can  be  correlated  with 
other  sequences,  possess  duration.  We  can  talk  of  the  dura- 
tion of  any  single  process,  but  never  of  the  duration  of  all 
processes. 


CHAPTER  VI 

CAUSALITY 

THROUGH  all  our  previous  studies  we  have  observ'ed 
that  the  flux  of  reality  is  not  absolute,  but  relative  to 
the  rhythmical  recurrence  of  its  elements.  By  reason  of  this, 
reaUty  possesses  a  pattern  like  that  of  a  musical  composition 
in  which  themes  are  constantly  repeated. 

For  the  existence  of  this  pattern  men  have  always  sought 
an  explanation.  Since  an  unpattemed  world  is  just  as 
thinkable  as  a  patterned  one,  they  have  asked  for  a  reason 
why  the  actual  world  should  be  of  the  one  type  rather  than 
of  the  other.  But  more  important  as  an  incentive  to  inquiry 
than  any  purely  speculative  questioning  has  been  the  practi- 
cal need  of  predicting  the  future  with  confidence,  possible 
only  if  the  rhythm  of  the  world  process  is  no  chance  fact 
which  might  become  otherwise,  but  based  on  some  necessity 
guaranteeing  its  permanence.  Now  by  causation  we  mean 
precisely  such  a  necessity  in  the  rhythm  of  change  as  makes 
possible  a  deductive  knowledge  of  change. 

However,  although  we  undoubtedly  possess  a  knowledge 
of  this  kind,  the  causal  necessity  which  should  be  its  founda- 
tion has  always  proved  difiicult  to  discover.  If  we  examine 
the  sense  world,  we  find  no  necessity  such  as  we  seek.  We 
find  only  a  rhythm  in  the  alteration  of  quaHties,  but  no 
necessity   which   might    compel    the    continuance    of    the 

129 


I30  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

rhythm.  Hume's  statement  of  the  situation  still  remains 
unanswered. 

This  conclusion  has,  to  be  sure,  been  called  in  question  by 
certain  recent  thinkers,  whose  views  deserve  examination, 
despite  the  fact  that  they  have  not  changed  the  result.  The 
reason  why  we  do  not  find  any  necessity  in  the  changes  of 
things,  we  are  told,  is  because  we  neglect  a  part  of  their 
nature,  which,  although  incapable  of  being  perceived  by 
the  senses,  is  nevertheless  discernible  —  by  the  intellect. 
Things  have  a  logical,  as  well  as  a  sensible  aspect,  namely 
law,  which  is  the  real  cause  of  their  changes  and  the  basis 
of  deduction.  Substitute  constants,  representing  the  par- 
ticular conditions  of  the  movement  of  an  object,  for  the 
variables  in  the  laws  of  motion,  and  you  can  deduce  future 
positions.  From  the  mere  law,  the  universal  and  logical 
nature  of  a  motion,  you  cannot,  of  course,  deduce  its  future; 
but  if  you  take  the  law  in  connection  with  the  special 
conditions,  the  empirical  sensuous  aspects  of  the  situation, 
you  will  have  success.  Causal  necessity  would  therefore 
be  logical  necessity,  and  we  could  understand  the  former 
by  seeing  it  to  be  a  case  of  the  latter,  which  is  well  known 
to  us. 

We  ourselves,  in  our  chapter  on  perception,  called  atten- 
tion to  the  fact  that  our  perception  of  things  included  not 
only  a  contact  with  part  of  their  sensuous  totality,  but  also 
a  knowledge  of  their  past.  Inevitably,  in  all  perception,  the 
history  of  a  thing  comes  under  our  purview.  And  this  his- 
tory is  an  ideal  reahty,  of  which  we  become  cognizant  only 
through  the  intellect,  not  through  the  senses.  What  we  call 


CAUSALITY  131 

the  law  of  a  thing  is  very  largely  just  this;  for  it  is  at  least  a 
statement  of  how  the  thing  acted  under  typical  conditions. 
Yet  the  law  always  involves  more  —  the  assertion  that  the 
thing  will  act  in  the  same  way  under  similar  conditions; 
which  is  belief,  not  perception  of  fact.  The  only  reality 
which  the  law  can  report  is  the  ideal  reaUty  of  the  thing's 
past;  it  cannot  report  the  future,  because  the  future  has  no 
being.  And  it  is  not  at  all  clear  how  the  ideal  record  of  a 
thing's  past  can  drive  it  forward  to  repeat  the  pattern  of  the 
past.  In  themselves,  the  truths  about  the  past  of  a  thing  do 
not  imply  anything  as  to  its  future;  only  when  they  are 
taken  together  with  some  further  proposition  asserting  the 
continuance  of  the  past  rhythm,  is  deduction  possible.  But 
it  is  just  this  latter  proposition  which  is  in  dispute,  and  its 
basis  still  to  seek. 

The  insufficiency  of  the  foregoing  theory  of  causation  is 
also  evident  in  the  following  inference  which  has  been  drawn 
from  it  by  its  supporters.  One  element  in  every  formulated 
causal  law  is  time.  Hence  if  the  law  of  a  change  is  its  cause, 
time  must  be  a  part-cause.  For  example,  in  the  motion  of  a 
body  time  must  be  effective  just  as  mass  and  force  are.  Yet 
those  who  have  followed  us  in  our  discussions  will  realize 
that  time  cannot  be  the  cause  of  any  process.  For  time  is 
either  just  the  flux  itself  or  else  its  ideal  record.  But  the 
former  does  not  carry  us  beyond  the  given  moment,  does  not 
contain  any  prevision  of  future  moments;  and  the  latter, 
being  itself  a  result  of  the  process,  cannot  as  such  be  a  factor 
in  its  generation;  as  a  record,  time  is  post  factum,  and  there- 
fore ineffective. 


132  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

The  failure  to  find  causal  necessity  has  led  in  some  quar- 
ters to  a  frank  abandonment  of  the  search  for  it.  There  is  no 
necessity  in  natural  phenomena,  it  is  said;  the  predictions 
of  science  do  not  imply  its  existence;  for  all  that  they  pre- 
suppose is  a  high  degree  of  probability.  The  empirical 
regularity  of  phenomena  is  no  indication  of  necessary  rela- 
tions between  them,  but  only  a  chance  form  of  them,  a  run 
of  luck  in  the  infinite  game  played  by  natural  forces  in  space 
and  in  time.  The  possibility  of  induction  rests  on  the  fact 
that  we  happen  to  be  living  in  a  part  of  space  and  time  where 
by  chance  there  is  this  regularity.  Remote  regions  of  space 
and  time  may  not  exhibit  uniformity,  and  consequently  our 
empirical  laws  may  not  hold  there  at  all.  The  laws  of  science 
represent  fair  samples  of  the  constitution  of  the  part  of  the 
world  beneath  our  ken,  the  degree  of  their  probability  de- 
pending on  the  random  character  of  our  sampling.  To  use 
the  illustration  of  Charles  Peirce,  just  as  I  can  gauge  the 
general  character  of  a  cargo  of  wheat  if  I  take  samples  from 
various  parts  of  the  hold,  so  I  can  discover  the  probable 
character  of  a  class  of  natural  phenomena  by  the  exami- 
nation of  a  multitude  of  cases  covering  a  wide  area  and 
selected  at  random. 

But  this  theory,  when  used  as  a  basis  for  the  prediction  of 
the  character  of  new  events,  seems  to  me  to  suffer  from  the 
same  fallacy  that  was  noted  in  the  interpretation  of  causal 
necessity  as  logical  necessity.  For  it  assumes  that  the 
future  already  exists  possessed  of  a  definite  constitution 
which  can  be  sampled.  Induction  from  past  to  future  is 
treated  in  exactly  the  same  way  as  induction  from  one  exist- 


CAUSALITY  133 

ing  phenomenon  to  another.  But,  although  you  can  dis- 
cover the  nature  of  the  past  and  the  present  by  the  process 
of  sampling;  since  both  have  constitutions,  the  one  ideal 
and  the  other  real;  you  cannot  thus  discover  the  future;  for 
it  does  not  exist  to  be  sampled.  You  have  got  to  discover 
the  future  from  the  past  and  the  present;  but  I  do  not  see 
that  the  theory  under  examination  shows  how  this  can  be 
done.  There  is  no  reason  why  the  supposed  "  run  of  luck  " 
should  not  stop  at  this  instant.  If  there  is  no  necessity  in  the 
course  of  events,  if  everything  be  due  to  chance,  then,  no 
matter  how  uniform  the  past  may  have  been,  the  future  may 
be  entirely  different.  Since  the  future  offers  new  worlds  to 
sample,  you  cannot  infer  anything  as  to  the  character  of  the 
new  from  the  character  of  the  old.  Induction  into  the  future 
is  not  like  determining  the  proportion  of  black  and  white 
balls  in  a  bag  from  a  random  selection  from  them;  but 
rather  like  determining  the  contents  of  a  bag  unopened  from 
one  already  examined.  Peirce's  theory  of  induction  is  good 
for  space,  but  not  for  time. 

Moreover,  the  problem  of  causation  cannot  be  brushed 
aside,  as  Bergson  would  have  us  do,  by  pointing  to  the  unity 
of  process.  His  line  of  reasoning,  with  the  basis  of  which 
we  are  already  familiar,  is  as  follows.  No  process  is  a  suc- 
cession of  separate  stages,  one  following  upon  another. 
Motion,  for  example,  is  not  the  series  of  occupations  of  posi- 
tion described  by  mathematicians.  Indeed,  no  occupation 
of  position  is  ever  given  as  real;  what  we  find  empirically  is 
a  going  from  one  position  to  another,  a  transition  or  flight. 
The  taking  up  of  a  new  position  is  already  implied  in  the 


134  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

abandonment  of  the  old ;  hence  in  the  present  —  the  moving 
present,  of  course;  for  that  alone  is  real  —  the  future  is 
already  given. 

Yet  this  presence  of  the  future  in  the  present  does  not  take 
us  far.  It  carries  us  only  to  the  immediate  future,  to  that 
which  is  even  now  coming  to  be.  It  takes  the  moving  body 
into  the  neighboring  points,  but  not  beyond.  The  new  is,  to 
be  sure,  already  coming  to  be  with  the  passage  of  the  old; 
this  is  the  very  fact  of  change,  as  we  have  seen ;  but  what  we 
are  now  trying  to  understand  is  not  change  —  for  we  do  not 
need  to,  since  it  is  directly  given  —  but  necessity  in  change, 
the  tie  between  present  and  future  which  enables  us  to  pre- 
dict what  the  future  will  be  like.  In  so  far  as  we  can  find  the 
immediate  future  developing  in  the  present,  we  know  what 
will  eventuate;  but  what  we  also  want  to  know  is  —  the 
character  of  the  remote  from  the  nature  of  the  immediate. 
The  physicist  is  as  sure  of  the  path  of  a  moving  body  for  ten 
minutes  as  for  ten  seconds;  the  physiologist  is  as  certain  of 
the  adult  form  of  the  embryo  as  of  the  child  form.  And  the 
remote  fact  is  not  given  in  the  immediate;  for  if  it  were, 
there  would  be  no  difference  between  present  and  future, 
between  what  is  and  what  is  not  yet.  The  temporal  process 
is  not  so  highly  unified  that  one  cannot  oppose  the  idea  of 
what  is  to  be  to  that  which  already  is,  as  the  fulfillment  or 
violation  of  any  expectation  attests. 

Hence,  as  the  result  of  an  age-long  search  on  the  part  of 
philosophers,  we  may  conclude  that  there  is  no  discoverable 
necessity  in  the  transformations  of  the  sense  world. 

Unlike  the  world  of  sense  phenomena,  however,  we  seem 
to  find  in  the  inner  life  the  necessity  which  we  seek.  We  find 


CAUSALITY  1 3  5 

it,  namely,  in  impulse,  interest,  plan.  This  is  an  old  idea, 
and  a  true  one,  I  believe,  but  the  objections  which  have 
been  urged  against  it  have  never  been  answered  or  the  diflS- 
culties  which  it  involves  successfully  faced. 

In  order  for  there  to  be  necessity  in  sequential  phenomena, 
certain  things  must  be  true.  First,  there  must  be  a  bond 
between  present  and  future  of  such  a  kind  that  we  can 
understand  how  the  latter  must  grow  out  of  the  former  in  a 
determinate  fashion.  Second,  this  growth  must  be  no  mere 
inner  development,  but  a  response  to  an  outer  solicitation, 
a  facing  of  a  situation,  an  adjustment.  All  causation  in- 
volves the  functional  relations  of  things:  contraction  in 
relation  to  cold,  expansion  in  relation  to  heat,  organism 
responding  to  stimulation,  and  the  like.  Third,  the  neces- 
sity must  be  of  such  a  kind  that  it  carries  us  beyond  the 
immediate  future,  enabling  us  to  predict  long  courses  of 
action. 

Now  the  various  phenomena  of  what  is  broadly  called 
will  all  conform  to  these  requirements.  Consider  the  first  of 
them.  Every  impulse  contains,  itself  being  a  present  reality, 
a  nisus  to  development  into  the  future,  to  fulfillment.  Every 
interest,  every  plan,  unless  opposed,  must  work  itself  out, 
and  it  must  work  itself  out  in  the  special  fashion  required  by 
its  character  as  special  interest,  plan  or  purpose.  These  all 
require  certain  determinate  acts  in  order  to  fulfillnient. 
Next,  consider  the  second  point.  No  act  of  will  is  a 
purely  internal  phenomenon.  Interest  is  in  something, 
desire  is  of  something,  wish  and  will  are  for  something  which 
is  to  grow  out  of  a  definite  situation  in  the  present  existing 


136  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

world.  They  are  all  responses  to  the  given,  terminating  in 
changes  of  the  given.  For  example,  the  presence  of  food 
excites  a  desire  which  releases  an  action  upon  the  object, 
transforming  it  into  something  that  satisfies.  Third,  in  plan 
and  purpose  we  have  forms  of  will  which  fulfill  the  third 
requirement.  If  a  man  wants  to  walk  to  a  definite  point,  we 
know  that  he  must  cover  the  intervening  points  along  his 
course;  if  it  is  his  plan  to  build  a  house,  a  whole  series 
of  acts  stretching  far  into  the  future  can  be  foretold  as 
necessarily  related  to  that  purpose. 

And  in  the  phenomena  of  will  alone  does  there  exist  the 
possibility  of  making  the  past  a  law  for  the  future,  and  so  a 
means  of  prediction.  We  have  seen  —  the  man  of  science 
desires  some  insight  into  the  fact  that  through  a  knowledge 
of  the  past  he  can  deduce  a  knowledge  of  the  future.  There 
was  no  apparent  means  of  doing  this  in  the  case  of  purely 
external  facts.  In  that  realm,  the  moving  present  is  given 
and  the  past  is  discoverable,  but  no  relation  is  given,  or  can 
be  discovered,  of  the  present  to  the  past  such  as  would  make 
possible  the  understanding  of  the  future  through  the  past. 
There,  we  cannot  see  how  the  present  can  contain  in  it  an 
impetus  to  imitate  the  past.  Whoever  predicts  the  future 
conduct  of  a  thing  from  its  past,  believes  that  the  past  binds 
its  behaviour,  compelling  to  reinstatement;  but,  as  we  have 
seen,  a  law  is  given  only  as  a  record,  although  we  use  it  as  a 
statement  of  the  future.  This  is  the  leap  in  causal  deduction, 
the  mystery  in  external  phenomena.  But  in  the  inner  life  all 
becomes  clear  —  we  can  understand  how  the  past  becomes 
a  law  for  the  future,  how  that  which  we  know  only  back- 


CAUSALITY  137 

wards  can  be  read  forwards.  Let  pleasure  result  from  the 
doing  of  any  deed,  then  the  act  becomes  necessarily  self- 
repeating.  The  memory  becomes  a  plan;  the  future  imitates 
the  past.  In  interest,  in  plan,  in  habit,  we  understand  how 
a  law — a  statement  of  past  conduct — becomes  a  vera  causa 
and  a  guide  to  the  future.  As  remembered,  then  as  turned 
forwards,  the  past,  which  is  otherwise  only  an  ideal  record 
of  that  which  was,  becomes  a  plan  and  determines  the  future 
to  be  as  itself  was. 

There  is  another  feature  of  the  causal  process  which,  un- 
clear in  the  external  world,  becomes  clear  when  we  find  its 
analogue  within  the  mind;  I  mean  selective  reaction.  It 
may  be  that  each  thing  responds  to  everything  in  its  en- 
vironment, but  certainly  its  responses  to  some  things  are 
more  sensitive  and  far-reaching  than  to  others.  The  magnet 
that  elicits  responses  from  iron  filings  leaves  silver  unmoved ; 
gold  that  remains  unaflFected  by  sulphuric  acid  dissolves  in 
the  presence  of  aqua  regia.  This  phenomenon,  so  striking 
throughout  nature,  is  most  abundantly  illustrated  by  the 
facts  which  the  chemists  call  elective  affinity.  Now  in 
nature,  I  say,  no  one  can  understand  the  necessities  in  these 
selective  reactions.  For  example,  we  do  not  see  what  there 
is  about  gold  which  should  make  it  indififerent  to  all  acids 
except  the  one  which,  because  of  this  preference,  we  call 
royal.  If  you  say,  there  is  no  need  of  going  further  than  the 
fact  of  selection  itself,  I  answer  —  I  cannot  help  seeking 
some  basis  for  it;  for  I  assume  one  every  time  that  I  expect 
the  substance  to  act  selectively  in  the  same  way  when  put 
again  in  contact  with  the  acid.   If  it  was  a  mere  brute  fact 


138  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

before,  how  can  I  be  sure  that  some  other  mere  brute  fact  will 
not  eventuate  on  this  new  occassion  ?  What  was  not  neces- 
sary then  is  surely  not  necessary  now;  or  if  a  necessity  has 
been  created  by  the  past  reaction,  I  have  a  right  to  demand 
some  understanding  of  it. 

Now  in  the  inner  life  we  possess  such  an  understanding. 
The  botanist,  indifferent  to  the  birds,  sights  the  flowers. 
Suppose  it  was  chance  that  first  impelled  him  to  make  this 
selection.  At  any  rate,  it  is  not  chance  which  makes  him  do 
it  a  second  time.  For  the  pleasure  in  his  past  experience 
created  in  him  an  interest  in  that  type  of  object,  whereas  he 
has  none  in  the  other  types.  From  a  purely  external  stand- 
point, each  object  has  its  face  turned  towards  every  other 
object,  and  it  is  incomprehensible  why  it  should  look  away 
from  all  others  to  fix  its  gaze  upon  one.  We  cannot  find  any- 
thing in  it  which  should  determine  this  favoritism.  But  if 
we  enter  into  the  thing  and  find  there  an  interest  for  a  special 
kind  of  object,  then  we  understand.  An  interest  is  precisely 
that  which  creates  a  touch  between  one  thing  and  another, 
kindling  to  exclusive  interaction.  And  this  interest  exists  in 
the  thing  in  such  wise  that,  knowing  it  to  be  there,  we  can 
predict  what  will  occur. 

Bergson  has  adduced  the  following  as  an  objection  to  the 
theory  that  in  the  phenomena  of  volition  we  actually  find 
necessity.  That  all  necessity  rests  upon  identity  is  the  fun- 
damental premiss  of  his  argument.  But  between  a  plan 
and  its  fulfillment  there  is  no  identity,  he  says;  for,  if  there 
were,  there  would  be  no  need  of  any  action  or  process  in 
order  for  the  one  to  pass  over  into  the  other.    The  one  does 


CAUSALITY  139 

not  contain  the  other,  hence  by  no  purely  logical  operation 
can  the  other  be  deduced  from  it. 

Well,  it  is  indeed  true  that  there  is  not  complete  identity 
between  a  plan  and  its  fulfillment;  but  even  logical  deduc- 
tion is  not  mere  identification.  Take  any  simple  case  of 
deduction;  suppose,  for  example,  that  I  know  that  A  is 
greater  than  B  and  that  B  is  greater  than  C,  I  can  conclude 
that  A  is  greater  than  C.  I  get  a  new  proposition  in  deduc- 
tion, not  something  identical  with  the  old;  the  conclusion 
follows  necessarily  from  the  premisses,  but  is  not  identical 
with  them.  Just  so  with  the  realization  of  a  plan.  There  is 
more  in  the  realization  than  there  is  in  the  plan.  Even  if 
nothing  were  added  to  the  abstract  characters  of  the  plan 
through  the  process  of  realizing  it,  still,  the  fact  of  its  being 
a  plan  realized,  and  not  a  mere  plan,  would  be  sufficient  to 
make  it  different.  Despite  all  this,  however,  we  claim  that 
given  the  conditions,  the  one  follows  necessarily  from  the 
other.  And  what  do  we  mean  by  necessarily  ?  Why,  just  as 
we  mean  when  we  say  that  the  conclusion  follows  necessarily 
from  the  premisses  that,  if  the  latter  are  true,  the  former  is 
true  also;  so  we  mean,  given  the  plan  and  given  certain 
conditions,  the  realization  of  the  plan  comes  to  be. 

There  is,  however,  Bergson  asserts,  a  great  difference  be- 
tween the  two  cases;  for  in  logic  the  conclusion  is  eternally 
implicit  in  the  premisses;  while  in  action  the  realization 
does  not  co-exist  with  the  plan;  there  is  a  going  forth,  a 
development  taking  time.  And  there  surely  is  this  difference 
between  the  two  cases;  premisses  and  conclusions  do  co- 
exist eternally;   time  and  process  enter  into  the  drawing  of 


140  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

conclusions,  but  not  into  their  logical  being  in  relation  to  the 
premisses.  But  now,  despite  this  difference,  we  assert  the 
equal  rationality  of  the  purposeful  process.  For,  just  as  we 
perceive  that  the  truth  of  the  conclusion  must  co-exist  with 
the  truth  of  the  premisses,  so  we  perceive  that  the  realiza- 
tion must  come  to  he,  not  be,  when  the  plan  is  given  —  the 
element  of  becoming,  of  passage  and  novelty,  is  necessary. 
A  plan  that  was  eternally  realized,  or  co-existed  with  its 
reahzation,  would  be  no  plan  at  all;  and  a  plan  that  would 
not  realize  itself  under  favoring  circumstances  is  unthink- 
able. The  plan  itself  not  only  demands  that  it  become  real, 
but  also  that  it  become  real. 

The  entire  active  process  is  intelligible  from  one  end  to  the 
other.  To  recapitulate:  First,  it  is  unthinkable  that  the 
plan  should  not  become  real,  given  favoring  circumstances; 
that  realization  should  not  follow  conception.  Second,  it  is 
unthinkable  that  the  realization  should  co-exist  with  the 
plan ;  the  passage  from  one  to  the  other,  the  process  or  be- 
coming of  one  into  the  other,  is  also  necessary.  Third,  the 
character  of  that  which  becomes  real  —  what  it  is  that  be- 
comes real  —  is  also  necessary;  it  is  unthinkable  that  any- 
thing else  than  what  is  desired  should  become  real.  Hence, 
in  the  sphere  of  purposive  change,  it  is  not  only  possible  to 
deduce  the  future  from  the  present,  the  not-given  from  the 
given,  but  to  find  the  necessity  which  makes  this  possible. 
Purposive  change  has  a  logic  of  its  own ;  it  is  not  a  matter  of 
brute  fact  or  of  chance. 

Bergson  offers  one  more  point  in  his  criticism  of  the 
notion  that  purpose  makes  the  necessity  in  change.  He  says 


CAUSALITY  141 

we  are  always  aware  during  the  realization  of  a  plan  "  qu'il 
est  encore  temps  de  s'arreter."  Yet  this  is  true  only  when 
another  desire  intervenes  to  interrupt;  when  we  remain 
within  the  original  voHtion  itself,  such  a  thought  cannot 
arise,  and,  given  favorable  objective  conditions,  it  is  im- 
possible to  stop. 

The  real  difficulties  in  the  way  of  understanding  causal 
necessity  in  terms  of  action  arise,  as  Hume  pointed  out, 
when  we  take  these  objective  conditions  into  account.  In 
order  for  any  purpose  to  be  realized,  the  body,  and  usually 
the  external  world,  must  co-operate.  Suppose,  to  take  a 
simple  illustration  of  the  intervention  of  the  body,  it  is  my 
purpose  to  walk.  In  order  for  this  purpose  to  be  realized,  my 
limbs  must  move  and  neuro-muscular  paths  be  intact  and 
operate.  If  we  are  to  find  any  voluntary  action  intelligible, 
we  cannot  take  it  merely  as  a  spiritual  event,  but  must 
understand  it  concretely  in  its  relation  to  the  body. 

It  must  frankly  be  admitted  that  these  difficulties  cannot 
be  completely  solved.  The  involution  of  the  soul  in  the  body, 
and  through  this  in  the  external  world,  is  too  complex  and 
too  little  within  the  circle  of  our  direct  experience  to  be 
understood  in  any  detail.  Yet  we  can  begin  to  understand ; 
we  can  get  from  within  our  experience  a  hint  as  to  how  the 
whole  is  planned.  We  must  recall  points  of  view  which  were 
developed  in  our  study  of  the  relation  of  soul  and  body.  In 
the  first  place,  we  saw  that  the  body  did  not  lie  wholly  out- 
side of  our  experience.  The  muscular  sensations  of  walking 
are  a  part  of  the  limbs,  which  co-exist  with  the  purpose  to 
walk  in  one  unified  experience.  The  purpose  and  the  physi- 


142  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

cal  process  of  walking  are  not  two  disparate  facts,  merely 
sequent  upon  each  other  and  externally  brought  together, 
but  elements  in  a  whole.  There  is  no  desire  to  walk  without 
incipient  sensations  of  walking,  and  as  the  walking  proceeds, 
the  desire  and  its  fulfillment  co-exist  and  are  functions  of 
one  another,  just  as  thought  and  expression  are.  Of  course 
there  is  a  very  large  part  of  the  body  engaged  in  the  process 
of  walking  which  does  not  come  within  our  immediate  ex- 
perience —  the  cerebral  regions,  for  example  —  and  this 
fact  sets  a  problem  to  any  one  who  would  understand  the 
process  as  a  whole.  But,  as  we  shall  try  to  show,  the  whole  is 
perspicuous  if  viewed  in  the  light  of  the  part;  the  portion  of 
the  body  which  lies  beyond  the  mind  is  of  like  nature  with 
the  portion  which  is  given  within  it,  hence  similar  purposes 
may  operate  there  in  conjunction  with  our  own. 

Similar  reflections  weigh  with  us  when  we  consider  the 
realization  of  purpose  in  the  external  world.  Suppose  we 
take  the  case  of  a  painter  sketching  from  memory.  Here  a 
plan  is  being  realized  in  a  material  external  to  the  body,  yet 
not  external  to  the  plan  and  to  experience;  for  the  pigments 
and  the  canvas,  as  visual  and  tactile  sensations,  are  elements 
of  the  mind.  Of  course  there  is  a  large  part  of  the  reaUty  of 
these  things  which  lies  beyond  our  experience;  but,  again, 
the  whole  is  like  the  part.  And  we  can  understand  —  or  at 
least  begin  to  understand  —  the  working  of  the  plan  in  the 
whole,  through  its  working  in  the  part  within  the  mind.  Our 
insight  depends  here  upon  the  insight  which  we  have  already 
gained,  that  the  physical  world,  while  external  spatially  to 
the  body,  is  not  wholly  external  to  the  mind. 


CAUSALITY  143 

In  the  inner  life  of  ourselves  or  of  our  fellow  men,  there- 
fore, we  claim  to  understand  the  processes  which  occur  there 
in  so  far  as  we  can  find  them  the  expressions  of  purposes, 
interests  and  habits.  It  is,  of  course,  a  matter  of  doubt 
whether  any  purpose  shall  ever  be  realized;  but  this  doubt 
is  due  to  our  dependence  on  the  world,  to  our  involution  in 
its  larger  realities.  Yet  this,  at  least,  we  know,  that  when  we 
find  ourselves  in  the  tide  of  our  wills,  in  the  rush  of  our  im- 
pulses, the  thing  must  go  on;  or  if  anything  shall  stop  us,  it 
will  be  of  the  same  stream  that  bears  us.  And,  in  so  far  as 
we  can  sympathize  with  the  life  of  our  fellows,  can  enter 
into  its  motives,  we  can  rely  on  it,  predict  it,  find  the  end 
of  one  piece  with  the  beginning,  its  necessary  sequent. 

On  the  other  hand,  in  so  far  as  our  lives  are  dependent  on 
external  reahties,  they  are  chance  and  uncomprehended,  be- 
cause involved  in  a  reahty  which  we  do  not  understand.  We 
have,  to  be  sure,  discovered  there  what  we  call  laws,  and  at 
times,  in  the  pride  of  success,  have  believed  that  we  under- 
stood for  that  reason;  but  disenchantment  follows  philo- 
sophic reflection  —  the  laws  themselves  are  not  necessary. 
We  assume  the  existence  of  necessity  there  — •  every  bit  of 
inductive  reasoning  presupposes  it  —  but  so  far  we  have 
been  unable  to  find  it. 

And  we  can  never  find  it.  We  can  only  assume  it.  And  he 
who  refuses  to  make  any  sort  of  hypothesis,  whose  intellect- 
ual conscience  forbids  him  to  believe  aught  except  the  given, 
can  never  understand.  He  only  can  hope  to  understand  who 
finds  it  reasonable  to  interpret  the  processes  of  the  external 
world  after  the  analogy  of  the  inner  world  —  who  supposes 


144  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

that  wherever  he  seems  to  find  the  merely  external,  there  is 
also  an  internal;  wherever  law,  purpose  and  interest. 

People  who  accept  this  interpretation  usually  argue  that 
it  is  as  reasonable  to  believe  nature  to  be  an  expression  of 
purpose  as  the  bodies  of  one's  fellow  men.  Of  our  fellow  men 
we  have  given  only  the  bodies,  the  external,  with  their 
habits  and  activities  ;  yet  we  assume  the  existence  of  a 
soul-life  like  our  own,  in  terms  of  which  we  can  under- 
stand the  latter  as  necessary.  Why,  they  argue,  should 
one  not  believe  of  the  whole  of  nature  what  one  believes 
of  the  part  ? 

Yet  it  must  be  admitted  that  we  bear  to  this  part  an  ex- 
ceptional relation.  For  we  are  able  to  carry  out  concretely 
the  purposive  interpretation  of  the  bodies  of  our  fellow  men, 
a  thing  which  we  are  unable  to  do  in  the  case  of  mere 
nature.  We  possess  ideas  which  correspond  to  the  plans  of 
our  fellows,  in  the  Hght  of  which  we  can  understand  their 
behaviour;  we  possess  no  such  ideas  with  reference  to  the 
rest  of  the  world. 

Hence,  although  we  accept  this  traditional  argument  from 
analogy,  it  is  not  the  one  which  we  are  employing.  We  are 
seeking  some  basis  for  induction;  we  wish  to  conceive  of 
natural  phenomena  as  necessary,  else  we  can  place  no  reli- 
ance upon  them,  we  can  justify  no  bit  of  the  confidence  which 
we  place  in  them.  Now  there  are  just  two  types  of  necessity 
known  to  us  —  the  logical  and  the  purposive.  That  there  is 
no  logical  necessity  in  natural  phenomena  was  proved  by 
Hume,  and  the  recent  attempts  to  show  the  contrary  we  have 
found  to  be  failures.   The  other  remains.   We  cannot,  to  be 


CAUSALITY  145 

sure,  prove  that  it  exists  in  nature;  yet  that  it  may  exist 
there  without  contradiction  we  shall  attempt  to  show.  It 
is,  at  any  rate,  the  only  hypothesis  which  we  are  capable 
of  framing.  And  is  it  unlikely  that  the  same  type  of 
necessity  which  exists  within  the  mind  should  characterize 
the  whole  from  which  the  mind  sprang  and  upon  which  it 
depends  ? 

From  the  nature  of  the  case,  we  are  unable  to  do  more  than 
offer  an  abstract  and  general  description  of  the  hypothesis 
which  we  are  defending.  Stated  in  as  simple  terms  as  pos- 
sible, it  is  this.  We  suppose  that  the  laws  of  nature  are  the 
expressions  of  interests  and  values.  Wherever  there  exists 
permanent  form,  whether  static,  the  togetherness  of  quali- 
ties, or  dynamic,  rhythmic  change,  we  suppose  that  there 
exists  a  value  in  the  pattern,  guaranteeing  the  endurance  of 
the  one  and  the  carrying  out  of  the  other.  Just  as  I  can  be 
sure  when  I  hear  the  beginning  of  a  sonata  that  I  shall  also 
hear  the  end  of  it;  for  I  know  that  there  exists  an  interest  in 
the  whole;  so  when  I  see  an  object  fall,  I  know  that  it  will 
reach  the  earth,  because  I  am  confident  that  the  given  part  of 
the  process  is  the  beginning  of  a  whole  intention  which  de- 
mands the  end  as  its  completion.  Just  as  we  find  our  own 
plans  and  interests  conferring  intelligibility  upon  our  experi- 
ence, weaving  it  into  systems,  so  we  suppose,  alongside  of 
our  own  and  interwoven  with  our  own,  that  there  exist 
other  plans  and  interests  making  of  the  whole  sense  world 
self-repeating  patterns. 

It  must  not  be  thought  that  we  are  seeking  to  deduce  the 
outer  sensuous  world  from  the  inner  spiritual  world.    The 


146  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

quality  of  experience  cannot  be  deduced  from  its  value.  The 
interest  in  colors,  for  example,  could  not  have  produced  blue 
or  violet;  for  how  could  an  interest  pre-exist  to  its  object  ? 
The  co-existence  of  the  two  is  the  ultimate  fact.  What  we 
assert  is  only  this :  that  interests  in  definite  patterns  of  sense 
qualities  having  somehow  arisen,  we  can  understand  as 
necessary  their  conservation  and  repetition. 

One  further  point  remains  to  be  developed  in  this  chapter. 
Necessity,  we  have  seen,  is  experienced  in  the  rush  of  instinct 
or  in  the  following  out  of  a  plan;  the  end,  we  know,  must 
follow  from  the  beginning.  But  a  certain  condition  is  in- 
volved which  we  have  not  mentioned,  but  have  taken  for 
granted  all  along,  that  no  new  impulse  should  develop 
within  the  process  which  we  are  experiencing  or  studying. 
For,  plainly,  this  new  development  would  not  be  without 
effect  upon  the  original  impulse  and  so,  from  a  mere  knowl- 
edge of  the  latter,  we  could  not  predict  the  outcome;  all  our 
calculations  would  be  rendered  uncertain  by  the  possibiHty 
of  an  unforeseen  deviation.  Now  all  scientific  prediction 
rests  upon  the  assumption,  I  take  it,  that  a  system  isolated 
from  outside  influences  will  go  as  we  find  it  going,  and  will 
exhibit  no  new  tendencies,  unless  they  are  awakened  from 
the  outside.  We  are  able  to  get  hold,  once  and  for  all,  of  the 
substance  which  we  are  studying,  which  we  could  not  do  if 
it  were  subject  to  irresponsible  changes  from  within.  We 
assume  that  a  body,  if  left  to  itself,  will  move  in  the  fashion 
in  which  we  find  it  moving;  or  that  a  man,  if  unhindered 
or  uninfluenced  by  his  fellows  or  his  surroundings,  will  carry 
out  his  present  plan. 


CAUSALITY  147 

It  seems  difficult  not  to  accept  this  assumption.  Against 
it  one  might  perhaps  urge  some  principle  of  native  change, 
in  accordance  with  which  all  things  must  be  transformed, 
purposes  not  excepted  —  iravra  pel.  But  the  only  principle 
of  change  in  things  is  the  necessity  which  we  have  been 
describing,  that  an  impulse  should  work  itself  out  into  fulfill- 
ment, should  run  itself  down  to  the  end;  yet  this  involves  no 
change  in  the  character  of  the  activity  itself  as  we  have 
known  it  before.  When  such  changes  seem  to  occur,  we  shall 
find,  I  think,  that  we  are  not  concerned  with  a  simple  sub- 
stance or  activity,  but  with  a  complex  one;  and  that  the 
changes  are  due,  therefore,  not  to  any  spontaneity  within  a 
single  impulse,  but  to  the  influence  of  each  of  the  elements  in 
the  whole  upon  the  rest.  Every  concrete  activity  which  we 
study  possesses  such  a  complexity.  And  we  notice  that  the 
more  complex  the  inner  world  of  the  tendency,  or  the  more 
varied  its  environment,  so  much  the  more  numerous  and 
varied  and  rapid  are  the  changes  which  it  undergoes.  It  is 
impossible  to  verify  an  absolutely  native  spontaneity.  All 
deviations  within  an  activity  are  due,  therefore,  to  its  rela- 
tions to  other  activities,  and  their  logic  must  be  studied  in 
this  light. 

Hence  we  are  justified  in  assuming  that  each  activity  is  a 
definite  thing  which  can  be  known  to  be  what  we  find  it,  and 
that  it  will  work  itself  out  in  accordance  with  its  aim.  This 
does  not  imply,  of  course,  that  there  is  any  tendency  which 
is  purely  internal.  The  unit  of  action  is  always  a  response  to 
an  environment.  A  body  moves  upon  impact,  an  organism 
responds  to  stimulation,  a  man  desires  something  that  he 


148  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

sees  and  touches,  his  purposes  are  directed  to  the  world  out- 
side. By  the  definiteness  of  an  action  we  mean  only  the  ex- 
clusion of  occult  influences  which  cannot  be  known  through 
any  survey  of  it.  And  we  have  seen  how,  from  a  knowledge 
of  present  impulse  and  plan,  we  can  deduce  the  future,  pro- 
vided that  new  external  influences  do  not  intervene. 

Yet  even  when  new  influences  are  brought  into  the  field, 
we  claim  the  power  of  predicting  the  outcome.  We  not  only 
assume  that  from  the  given  motion  of  an  iron  ball  we  can 
predict  its  future  course,  if  left  to  itself,  but  we  also  believe 
that  if  we  bring  a  magnet  into  its  neighborhood  we  can 
determine  beforehand  that  its  motion  will  be  deflected  in  a 
particular  fashion.  We  know  not  only  that  if  we  leave  a  man 
alone  with  his  purpose  he  will  carry  it  out,  but  that  if  we 
offer  him  some  temptation  —  gold  or  place  or  woman's 
wiles  —  he  will  abandon  it,  and  his  whole  career  will  be  dif- 
ferent. How  can  we  know  this  ?  Wherein  lies  the  necessity 
of  such  changes  ? 

We  usually  base  our  predictions  on  past  observations  that 
such  things  have  deviated  thus  under  the  same  or  similar 
circumstances.  And  this  means  —  in  terms  of  our  interpre- 
tation —  that  along  with  the  tendency  which  was  fulfilling 
itself  before  the  new  situation  arose,  there  existed  in  the 
thing  a  counter  tendency  which  only  needed  stimulation  in 
order  to  waken  into  Hfe  again.  If  there  be,  as  we  assume 
there  is,  some  necessity  in  these  reactions  enabling  us  to  pre- 
dict them  before  they  occur,  its  basis  must  be  an  impulse  or 
interest  demanding  them,  which  from  a  former  manifesta- 
tion, we  judge  to  be  still  present. 


CAUSALITY  149 

Here  it  may  seem  as  if  we  were  led  into  the  difficulty  of 
accepting  the  notion  of  the  potential.  In  what  way,  it  may 
be  asked,  can  tendencies  pre-exist  to  their  solicitation  ?  For 
we  suppose  them  to  be  already  present  as  a  basis  for  the 
new  reactions.  Take  it  within  our  own  experience.  Is  an 
impulse  real  before  it  finds  an  object  and  begins  to  function  ? 
If  so,  are  we  not  driven  either  into  the  quagmires  of  the 
"  unconscious  "  or  the  barren  wastes  of  "  matter  "  ?  The 
larger  aspects  of  this  problem  cannot  be  touched  upon  here ; 
yet  so  much  can  be  indicated  —  we  must  steer  clear  at  once 
of  Scylla  and  Charybdis.  In  order  to  do  this,  we  shall  have 
to  keep  in  mind  the  extraordinary  complexity  of  experience. 
Experience  often  has  a  sham  simplicity  which  misleads,  due 
to  the  dominance  of  some  special  interest  impelling  to  the 
belief  that  it  is  all,  while  around  and  in  subtle  ways  hiding 
within  it  are  minor  impulses  which  exist  none  the  less  be- 
cause they  are  not  in  the  focus.  Much  more  exists  in  the 
mind  than  is  ever  at  any  moment  known  by  it. 

If  we  accept  this  solution,  we  can  understand  a  diver- 
gence in  a  response,  or  a  new  reaction,  to  be  necessary  only 
when  we  can  assume  it  to  be  already  prefigured  in  the  given 
as  impulse  or  tendency  unawakened.  The  deflection  of  the 
iron  could  be  understood  on  the  assumption  of  some  interest 
of  iron  in  magnets,  and  the  response  of  man  to  gold  or  woman 
would  be  given  beforehand  in  some  obscure  desire. 

Yet  it  sometimes  happens,  at  least  in  that  part  of  the 
cosmos  which  we  know  most  intimately,  in  the  world  of 
human  affairs,  that  there  occur  novel  deviations  or  develop- 
ments of  plan,  in  response  to  new  situations,  for  which  we  can 


150  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

find  no  tendencies  hitherto.  We  are  unable  to  predict  such 
reactions,  because  we  have  never  seen  things  act  thus  before, 
and  they  could  not  have  occurred  quite  so  before,  because 
the  situations  out  of  which  they  grow  are  unique. 

Now  in  such  cases  we  can  follow  either  one  of  two  paths. 
We  may  assert  dogmatically  that  novel  reactions  are  neces- 
sary as  expressions  of  tendencies  which  pre-exist  to  their 
manifestation;  our  inability  to  find  them  being  due  to  our 
limitations  of  knowledge.  Thus  the  whole  course  of  the 
world  would  be  necessary.  This  view  corresponds  with  the 
ideal  of  science  —  the  possibility  of  predicting  the  entire 
future  from  the  present,  and  the  rigid  exclusion  of  chance 
from  the  universe. 

On  the  other  hand,  we  may  claim  that  there  is  no  necessity 
in  the  original  responses  of  things,  that  is,  in  the  first  re- 
sponses to  novel  situations,  and  therefore  no  possibility  of 
predicting  them.  Tendencies  do  not  pre-exist  to  situations; 
they  are  not  merely  brought  into  play  by  them;  they  are 
created  by  them,  not  de  novo,  of  course,  for  they  grow  out  of 
tendencies  already  extant,  yet  neither  as  a  mere  repetition  of 
them  nor  as  capable  of  being  deduced  from  them.  When  once 
estabhshed  however,  we  are  able  to  learn  from  watching 
them  what  the  future  responses  under  identical  conditions 
will  be.  For  out  of  every  situation  arises  an  impulse  which 
tends  to  perpetuate  whatever  reaction  happens  to  take 
place.  A  certain  way  of  responding  yields  pleasure;  this 
creates  a  desire  for  that  type  of  action ;  hence  whenever  the 
situation  recurs,  the  desire  now  existing  must  produce  the 
expected  result.    Only  the  first  responses  to  new  situations 


CAUSALITY  151 

are  fortuitous;  all  subsequent  ones  are  bound  to  the  form 
of  the  original. 

In  favor  of  this  latter  theory  we  urge  again  our  actual  in- 
ability to  predict  what  a  thing  will  do  under  novel  circum- 
stances. We  have  to  try  and  see,  experiment  and  await  the 
outcome.  The  result,  of  course,  grows  out  of  the  given  situa- 
tion, but  there  is  no  necessity  about  it;  it  might  well  have 
been  otherwise.  In  the  world  of  human  affairs  we  find 
sudden  decisions,  adventurous  undertakings  in  response 
to  untried  situations,  for  which  we  can  find  no  adequate 
preparatory  motives.  To  suppose  that  such  motives  were 
already  there  seems  arbitrary.  The  scientific  ideal  of  reduc- 
ing every  event  to  law  is  far  from  being  reahzed,  and  no 
ideal  is  the  measure  of  the  real.  All  that  we  need  to  pro- 
vide is  a  basis  for  such  laws  as  we  actually  discover,  for  such 
inductions  as  we  can  actually  carry  out. 

Now  such  a  basis  we  believe  we  have  provided.  For  once 
a  certain  t>'pe  of  action  has  occurred  with  its  attendant 
value,  no  matter  how  fortuitously  in  the  first  instance,  it  is 
henceforth  estabhshed  in  the  world's  rhythm  and  must  be 
sought  anew  when  opportunity  arises,  that  is,  when  a  like 
situation  recurs.  We  know,  therefore,  that  the  type  of 
action  will  necessarily  be  repeated  by  the  agent,  given  the 
recurrence  of  the  situation.  A  single  observation  of  the 
behaviour  of  a  thing  suffices  for  the  discovery  of  the  law  of 
its  future  action ;  for  the  law  itself  is  established  by  a  single 
act.  As  a  rule,  of  course,  we  do  not  observe  an  original 
reaction,  but  a  habit;  the  law,  if  new  to  us,  is  not  new  to  the 
thing.    And  when  we  infer,  not  the  future  behaviour  of  a 


152  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

thing  from  that  same  thing's  past,  but  the  behaviour  of 
another  like  thing,  we  are  justified  in  doing  so,  because  the 
things  which  we  are  studying  are  alike,  not  only  externally, 
but  in  their  inner  impulses  and  secret  motions.  In  such 
cases  we  are  not  concerned  with  the  free  and  fortuitous 
development  of  impulses,  but  with  the  expressions  of  im- 
pulses already  in  operation  and  in  response  to  situations 
ages  old.  Our  ability  to  infer  from  the  conduct  of  one  thing 
to  the  conduct  of  another  under  like  circumstances  is  based 
on  the  possession  by  both  of  the  same  innate  tendencies. 
Why  there  are  so  many  things  alike  is  a  further  problem. 
In  the  biological  world  a  common  origin  explains  com- 
mon nature,  and,  very  probably,  this  is  the  explanation  of 
the  phenomenon  everywhere.  But,  however  this  be,  the 
existence  of  similar  things  is  a  fact,  and  provides  a  basis 
for  induction. 

It  is  clear  that,  according  to  this  view,  law  is  a  develop- 
ment. The  first  responses,  the  original  evaluations,  are  sub- 
ject to  no  law.  There  is  necessity  and  law  only  where  there 
is  a  will  seeking  fulfillment.  But  under  novel  conditions  we 
do  not  know  what  we  want,  we  have  as  yet  no  will ;  hence 
there  is  no  necessity  that  we  should  react  in  one  way  rather 
than  in  another.  Only  when  the  response  is  made  and  an 
estimation  fixed,  a  habit  formed,  is  there  a  law.  Things  first 
act  fortuitously;  this  action  creates  a  value  in  the  action, 
a  demand  for  its  repetition,  leading  to  the  imitation  of  the 
past  —  this  is  the  birth  of  law.  Since  no  situation  is  ever 
exactly  like  an  old  one,  there  is  an  element  of  indetermi- 
nation  in  all  acts;    even  when  we  bring  an  old  demand  or 


CAUSALITY  153 

principle  to  bear  upon  them,  there  is  an  adjustment  of  it 
unpredictable  and  non-logical.  Since  science  is  interested  in 
the  rational  and  predictable  aspects  of  reality,  it  always 
seeks  the  same  rather  than  the  different,  the  necessary 
rather  then  the  fortuitous.  It  seeks  a  law  for  every  seeming 
novelty,  a  habit  in  every  adventure.  And  since  the  new 
always  grows  out  of  the  old,  being  a  modification  of  the  old 
in  adjustment  to  new  conditions,  the  type  can  always  be 
discovered,  even  in  the  most  wayward  of  happenings.  Yet 
they  can  never  be  reduced  to  the  type. 

There  are,  I  think,  two  fairly  persuasive,  although  not 
cogent,  arguments  against  this  view.  In  the  first  place,  one 
might  claim  that  the  mere  fact  that  the  new  grows  out  of  the 
old  involves  necessity.  Every  action,  as  a  reaction,  must  be 
determined  to  be  what  it  is  by  the  nature  of  the  agents.  In 
every  case,  if  the  agents  had  been  different,  the  reaction 
would  have  been  different;  it  could  not  have  been  other 
than  it  was,  given  the  nature  of  the  interacting  elements. 
Yet  this  argument,  plausible  as  it  is,  conceals  a  petitio. 
For  what  does  necessity  mean  ?  It  means,  as  we  have  said, 
deducibihty.  Now  there  is  no  possibiUty  of  deducing  what  a 
thing  will  do  under  novel  conditions,  because  there  is  no  law 
or  principle  from  which  the  deduction  can  proceed.  The  law, 
as  we  have  seen,  is  determined  by  the  new  reactions,  not  the 
reactions  by  the  law;  they  create  the  law  for  similar  situa- 
tions, they  are  not  created  by  the  law.  And  since  there  is  no 
law,  there  is  nothing  to  bind  thought ;  there  is  nothing  which 
compels  us  to  think  of  what  actually  does  happen  as  the  sole 
possible  reality.   The  action  which  results  does  grow  out  of 


154  '         THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

the  situation,  it  is  the  work  of  the  agents;  it  must  therefore 
conform  to  their  nature;  but  just  how,  when  this  con- 
formity means  a  modification,  a  recreation  of  their  nature, 
is  not  logically  determinable  beforehand,  and  is  not  neces- 
sary. And  the  fact  that  when  the  situation  is  repeated  the 
same  reaction  occurs  does  not  prove  the  contrary;  for,  as  we 
have  shown,  the  necessity  which  then  exists  is  post  factum: 
the  first  reaction  binds  all  other  reactions.  Just  this  is  the 
fundamental  mistake  of  the  necessarian :  to  seek  to  explain 
an  action  by  the  very  law  which  that  action  itself  creates  — 
surely  that  which  establishes  the  law  is  not  itself  estabHshed 
by  the  law. 

The  other  argument  which  may  be  urged  against  this 
view  is  the  following.  Every  proposition  is  either  true  or 
false;  it  must  therefore  be  possible  to  say  of  every  conceiv- 
able event  that  it  will  or  will  not  happen.  Otherwise  stated, 
some  one  definite  description  —  itself,  of  course,  a  sheaf  of 
propositions  —  must  be  true  of  the  future.  We  may  not,  of 
course,  know  what  this  description  is,  yet  it  must  neverthe- 
less exist.  But  whoever  is  in  earnest  about  the  reality  of  the 
flux  will  reject  this  argument.  He  will  deny  that  proposi- 
tions about  the  future  are  either  true  or  false;  he  will  claim 
rather  that  their  truth  or  falsity  is  something  to  be  deter- 
mined, not  something  already  determined.  He  will  afiirm, 
not  that  every  such  proposition  is  true  or  false,  but  that  it 
will  he  either  true  or  false.  A  proposition  is  either  true  or 
false  either  when  there  exists  something  real  with  which  it 
conforms  or  does  not  conform,  or  when  it  can  be  deduced 
from  other  propositions  which  are  true.  Now  since  the  future 


CAUSALITY  155 

does  not  exist,  there  is  no  reality  which  makes  propositions 
about  it  either  true  or  false  by  conformity  or  non-conform- 
ity, and  the  only  deducible  propositions  are  those  which 
follow  from  laws,  but  these,  so  we  claim,  do  not  cover  the 
whole  field.  Truth  itself  is  a  growth,  like  the  real,  of  which 
it  is  the  image. 

Moreover,  every  law,  as  a  statement  of  future  behaviour, 
is  formal  or  abstract.  For  it  presupposes  the  identity  of  the 
agent  and  the  situations  into  which  it  enters.  But  neither 
the  one  nor  the  other  is  absolute.  In  so  far  as  things  enter 
into  new  situations,  they  are  altered,  and  being  different 
themselves,  create  new  situations  for  other  things.  Not  that 
these  changes  render  the  laws  completely  void:  for,  as  we 
know,  partial  identity  may  exist  despite  differences.  The 
general  form  or  rhythm  of  the  behaviour  will  be  the  same  in 
the  new  case  as  in  the  old.  One  could  predict,  for  example, 
•  the  style  of  a  Corot  painting  after  the  artist  had  developed 
his  manner,  but  one  could  not  give  an  exact  description  of 
any  picture  before  it  was  executed,  because  each  "  inspira- 
tion" was  unique.  And  this  abstract  or  formal  character  of 
law  does  not  render  it  "  artificial,"  and  of  merely  "  practi- 
cal "  significance,  since  the  identity  which  it  indicates  is  as 
metaphysically  real  as  the  differences  which  make  complete 
description  of  the  future  impossible.  Yet  what  does  follow 
is  this:  there  exists  no  concrete  or  complete  truth  about  the 
future  such  as  exists  about  the  past  and  the  present  —  there 
is  nothing  corresponding  to  history  or  observation  —  no 
genuine  foresight  or  prevision. 


156  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

The  second  theory  is  the  one  which  we  ourselves  adopt,  as 
being  the  most  empirical,  the  most  cautious,  the  freest  from 
dogmatic  assumption  and  appeal  to  the  potential  and  undis- 
coverable.  It  is  the  one  which  is  most  in  harmony  with  the 
adventure  and  originaHty  of  process,  yet  it  provides  a  satis- 
factory basis  for  such  inductions  as  we  can  actually  carry 
out. 


CHAPTER   VII 


SPACE 


IN  order  to  complete  our  theory  of  the  physical  world,  we 
must  bring  the  simple  metaphysical  idea  developed  in 
our  third  chapter  into  relation  with  the  scientific  concepts  of 
space,  matter  and  force.  Since,  as  we  shall  find,  they  are  all 
interrelated,  we  shall  have  to  study  them  together;  yet  we 
can  take  our  start  most  conveniently  with  space. 

Although  the  scientific  concept  of  space  is  very  different 
from  anything  given  in  our  more  immediate  and  unreflective 
experience,  it  nevertheless  has  its  roots  there,  which  must  be 
found  if  we  would  determine  its  metaphysical  significance. 
Our  sense  experience  comes  to  us  as  already  spatial,  as  pos- 
sessed of  extension  and  volume,  with  its  elementary  dif- 
ferentiations in  an  order.  This  is  notably  true  of  visual  and 
tactual  elements.  Yet  even  sound  and  smell  and  taste  are 
localized ;  the  first  vaguely,  the  second  and  third  in  the  nose 
and  on  the  tongue,  respectively.  The  group  of  organic  sen- 
sations are  placed  inside  of  the  body.  The  inner  life  itself  is 
not  without  its  spatial  characteristics.  We  locate  our  emo- 
tions and  itnpulses  where  their  executive  and  expressive 
organs  are  —  rage  in  the  fists  and  reaching  in  the  arms,  for 
example.  Thought,  memory  and  imagination  are  located  in 
a  vague  way  inside  of  our  skulls. 

Yet  examination  of  our  seemingly  naiive  spatial  experience 
shows  it  not  to  be  as  innocent  as  may  be  supposed ;  it  is,  in 

157 


158  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

fact,  full  of  reflection,  of  theory.  For  what,  after  all,  do  we 
seem  to  find  in  space  ?  Things.  But  things,  as  we  know,  are 
largely  constructions  —  a  synthesis  of  sense  elements  and 
meanings.  It  is  doubtful  whether,  apart  from  the  attach- 
ment of  meanings  to  our  visual  and  tactual  experiences  and 
their  demarcation  into  separate  things,  they  would  seem  to 
be  out  there,  before  and  behind,  above  and  below.  The  per- 
ception of  the  third  dimension  depends  largely  upon  the 
interpretation  of  visual  sensations  in  terms  of  further  pos- 
sible experiences,  especially  movement  and  touch  experi- 
ences; mere  light  and  color  are  not  before  and  behind,  but 
rather  the  tree  and  the  house.  Sounds  and  odors  and  tastes 
are  localized  through  the  sounding,  odorous  and  sapid  things 
with  which  they  are  connected.  If  our  direct  perception  of 
space  involves  the  conception  of  things,  so  necessarily  do  our 
thought  and  memory  of  space.  It  is  the  river,  the  tree,  the 
town,  the  mountain  that  we  think  of  when  we  think  of  the 
space  outside  and  beyond  that  which  lies  within  the  given 
fields  of  touch  and  vision.  Dissolve  the  crystallization  of 
experience  into  things,  and  its  spatial  form  vanishes  into 
chaotic  indistinctness. 

Not  only  does  our  common  experience  of  space  depend' 
upon  the  thing,  but  our  scientific  concept  as  well.  We  can 
prove  this  by  an  analysis  of  the  latter.  The  fundamental 
elements  of  the  concept  of  space  are  position  or  point,  dis- 
tance and  order.  These  elements  are  mutually  dependent, 
and  all  meaningless  apart  from  the  notion  of  the  thing. 
Position  always  involves  the  relations  between  one  thing 
and  other  things.    The  position  of  the  earth  is  its  distance 


SPACE  159 

from  the  sun  and  fixed  stars,  and,  in  turn,  the  position  of  the 
sun  and  fixed  stars  is  their  distance  from  the  earth  and  other 
things.  To  be  sure,  we  distinguish  a  position  or  point  from  a 
thing  at  a  point,  because  various  things,  as  we  say,  can 
occupy  the  same  point  at  different  moments  of  time.  Yet 
this  does  not  prove  that  a  point  could  exist  apart  from  some- 
thing at  a  point;  that  there  are  points  in  themselves.  We 
distinguish,  in  similar  fashion,  kingship  from  the  man  who 
happens  to  be  king  —  we  distinguish  the  individual  from  his 
office,  and  we  may  even,  if  we  are  sentimental,  look  upon 
royalty  as  a  quality  handed  down  intact  from  one  ruler  to 
another,  just  as  the  crown  and  scepter  are.  Yet  this  does 
not  prove  that  royalty  would  exist  if  there  were  no  kings. 
Well,  position  is  also  an  office,  capable  of  occupation  by 
various  things  at  various  times.  A  thing  is  at  the  same  point 
that  another  thing  occupied,  when  it  bears  the  same  relations 
to  other  things  that  the  first  thing  bore.  Everybody  admits 
that  we  cannot  recover  an  identical  point,  except  in  the  sense 
of  finding  a  thing  in  the  same  relations  to  other  things  taken 
as  points  of  departure;  but  this  admission  is  equivalent 
to  the  abandonment  of  the  notion  of  the  point-in-itself — 
a  thing  which  cannot  be  found  is  nothing.  Space  could 
have  an  absolute  existence  only  in  the  sense  that  all  pos- 
sible relations,  distances  and  orders  were  always  filled, 
which  would  imply,  of  course,  the  continuous  existence  of 
elements  in  the  relations  in  question  —  the  existence  of  a 
plenum. 

That  distance  is  meaningless  apart  from  things  follows 
immediately  from  the  discussion  of  position.    Distance  is 


l6o  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

always  from  one  point  to  another,  from  one  thing  to  another. 
I  can  determine  a  distance  only  with  reference  to  some  start- 
ing point.  The  reversibihty  of  distance,  the  fact  that  I  can 
go  the  same  distance  either  way,  implies  the  possibility  of 
returning  to  the  starting  point.  But,  as  we  have  seen,  to 
recover  a  point  implies  the  recovering  of  a  thing  in  the  same 
relations  to  other  given  things,  and  I  can  determine  that 
these  relations  are  the  same,  only  if  I  can  recover  the  things 
which  served  as  a  frame  of  reference  for  my  determination  of 
positions.  The  reversibility  of  distance  impHes,  then,  the 
recoverability  of  things.  The  dependence  of  distance  upon 
things  has  been  emphasized  from  another  point  of  view  by 
Poincare.  The  measurement  of  all  distances  implies  the  in- 
variance  of  the  unit  of  measure  taken  as  standard,  that  is, 
the  possibility  of  identifying  it  in  a  new  experience  as  the 
same  thing. 

The  relativity  of  order  to  things  is  also  plain.  Spatial 
order  is  an  order  of  points;  but,  as  we  know,  points  do  not 
exist  apart  from  things;  order  that  is  not  the  order  of  some- 
thing is  a  mere  abstraction.  Geometry  treats  of  points  as  if 
they  were  existences,  but  only  for  the  reason  that  by  point 
the  geometer  means  "  some  object  standing  in  the  relation- 
ships to  be  described."  The  reversibility  of  spatial  order 
implies,  like  the  reversibility  of  distance,  the  possibility  of 
recovering  things;  after  finding  things  in  the  order  a,  b,  c,  d, 
I  must  be  able  to  find  them  again  in  the  order  d,  c,  b,  a;  or 
at  least  I  must  be  able  to  rediscover  those  elements  which  I 
have  taken  as  a  frame  of  reference,  from  which  new  things  in 
the  order  a,  b,  c,  d  can  be  determined. 


SPACE  l6l 

The  metaphysical  interpretation  of  space  depends,  there- 
fore, upon  the  metaphysical  interpretation  of  the  thing. 
According  to  the  results  of  our  third  chapter,  the  thing  is  a 
complex  of  sense  elements  conforming  to  a  certain  type  and 
recurring  in  accordance  with  a  certain  law.  And,  according 
to  the  results  of  our  chapter  on  cause,  this  lawfulness  of  the 
sense  elements  of  the  thing  betokens  the  existence  of  a  per- 
manent interest  controlling  and  expressing  itself  in  them. 
Moreover,  although  the  sense  elements  in  the  mind  of  each 
individual  are  unique  and  different;  yet,  because  they  are  of 
the  same  type  and  under  control  of  the  same  influences, 
we  think  of  them  as  one.  With  this  interpretation  of  the 
thing  as  a  premiss,  it  is  not  difiicult  to  go  on  to  the  under- 
standing of  space.  Let  us  consider  again  the  elements  of 
space. 

What  is  a  point  ?  If  we  survey  the  sense  data  of  our  per- 
ceptual experience  we  find  separable  wholes  within  which  we 
can  make  discriminations,  find  parts.  The  smallest  of  these 
discriminations,  the  indivisible  elements  found,  are  points. 
A  minimal  sense  element  is  a  perceptual  point,  the  totality 
of  these  is  given  space.  Yet  these,  of  course,  are  not  all  the 
points  there  are.  By  means  of  a  movement  or  other  process 
I  can  enlarge  the  extension  of  things,  and  so  find  new  dis- 
criminable  elements  between  those  already  found.  That 
which  seemed  to  be  single  gives  place  to  a  whole  nest  of  items. 
But  the  ultimate  discriminations  are  not  real  before  I  make 
them.  When  I  use  a  microscope  I  help  to  create  new  sense 
data  which  were  not  there  before.  Why  then  do  I  take 
the  fine  discriminations  to  be  more  real  than  the  gross  ones  ? 


1 62  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

Why  do  I  trust  the  microscope  rather  than  the  naked  eye  ? 
For  much  the  same  reason  that  we  believe  the  touch  thing 
to  be  more  real  than  the  visual  thing.  As  sense  data,  of 
course,  the  gross  and  the  fine  points  of  discernment  are 
equally  real;  yet  we  give  the  latter  the  preference,  because 
by  acting  there  we  can  effect  more  far-reaching  results 
within  experience.  Our  experience,  as  we  know,  is  partly 
under  our  own  control,  partly  under  the  control  of  influences 
which  play  through  it  unknown  to  ourselves.  When  I  act  at 
a  point,  that  is,  upon  a  certain  fine  element  of  my  experi- 
ence, the  result  is  partly  determined  by  these  foreign  forces. 
To  every  fine  element  of  my  action  there  corresponds  a  pos- 
sible responsive  influence  in  the  environing  experience.  The 
more  pervasive  change  which  results  from  the  finer  action 
proceeds  from  a  wider  area  of  that  experience. 

Strictly  speaking,  a  point,  as  we  have  shown,  is  only  an 
office;  it  has  no  reality  apart  from  a  thing  at  a  point.  The 
reahty  corresponding  to  the  point  is  the  physical  thing  or  bit 
of  a  thing.  The  discriminable  parts  of  the  thing,  rather  than 
the  points,  are  the  constituents  of  the  thing.  These  constitu- 
ents, as  sense  elements,  have  no  reahty  beyond  themselves, 
yet,  as  causally  determined,  they  indicate  surrounding  in- 
fluences. To  the  multipHcity  of  the  former  there  corresponds 
a  complexity  in  the  latter.  Our  experience  is  differentiated  ' 
and  deployed  in  response  to  the  influences  which  play  upon 
it.  In  so  far  as  any  bit  of  an  object  is  recoverable,  it  gives 
evidence  of  an  abiding  force  in  the  not-self  which  may  be 
exerted  again  under  proper  conditions;  it  expresses  a  per- 
manent interest  which  can  be  reawakened. 


SPACE  163 

The  dynamical  reconstruction  of  a  thing  as  a  system  of 
particles  is  the  last  step  in  the  direction  begun  by  the  empiri- 
cal division  of  it  into  parts.  Only  here  the  reconstruction 
has  left  the  perceptual  for  the  purely  conceptual  level.  The 
particles  do  not,  of  course,  exist  behind  the  perceptual  con- 
tent ;  they  exist  in  front  of  it,  so  to  speak,  in  the  mind  of  the 
thinker.  Yet  they  are  not  without  metaphysical  meaning. 
For  they  indicate,  more  accurately  than  the  observable  dif- 
ferences in  the  perceptual  field,  the  multiple  possibihties  of 
response  and  control  from  the  environment.  The  postulated 
infinity  of  points  in  space  has  a  similar  significance.  Empiri- 
cally, there  exists  no  such  infinity  in  any  perceptual  extent. 
Yet  if  the  scientific  hypothesis  is  sound,  there  are  an  infinite 
number  of  possible  responses  which  the  environment  can 
make  to  anything  which  exists  in  relation  to  it. 

Let  us  next  consider  order  and  distance.  Although  the 
spatial  order  of  given  sense  elements  is  static,  it  represents  a 
temporal  order  of  possible  experiences.  To  each  of  the  ele- 
ments in  the  static  order  there  is  attached  a  meaning  which 
refers  to  other  elements  with  which  it  may  be  connected 
temporally.  Spatial  order  is  an  anticipated  temporal  order. 
That  which  comes  first  in  the  one  is  first  in  the  other;  the 
near  is  now;  the  remote  is  late.  Distance  is  anticipated  dura- 
tion. To  every  extension  there  corresponds  a  movement 
experience  which  would  realize  the  end-point.  All  distances 
are  primarily  read  from  the  body,  the  aboriginal  origin  of  all 
co-ordinates.  The  body  forms  a  center  about  which  all  the 
points  in  space  arrange  themselves  in  concentric  spheres. 
The  lines  which  pass  through  the  body  to  any  point  in  these 


164  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

spheres  are  temporal  lines  indicating  successive  future 
experiences.  The  infinite  extent  of  space  is  the  image  of 
endless  time  —  it  is  anticipated  endless  movement. 

The  reversibihty  of  spatial  order  and  distance,  contrasting 
with  the  irreversibihty  of  time,  does  not  invalidate  the  inter- 
pretation of  space  in  terms  of  time.  The  reversibility  of 
spatial  relations  involves,  as  we  have  seen,  the  possibility  of 
finding  anew  similar  sense  elements.  The  irrecoverable  does 
not  exist  for  us  in  space.  The  hallucination  or  the  dream  — 
except  in  so  far  as  we  attach  them  to  the  brain  —  are  not  in 
space,  because  irrecoverable.  An  absolutely  fluid  experience, 
as  Poincare  has  insisted,  would  not  be  spatial.  In  order  to 
fix  the  network  of  relations,  in  order  to  set  up  the  static 
framework  for  process,  which  is  space,  we  must  be  able  to 
establish  relatively  permanent  points  de  repere.  But  the 
irreversibility  of  time  is  in  no  wise  incompatible  with  this. 
The  sequence  a,  b,  c,  d,  c,  b,  a,  as  a  sequence  of  concrete 
individual  experiences  following  each  other  in  time,  is  irre- 
versible, yet  it  contains  as  an  abstract  moment  a  reversible 
order  of  qualities  of  experience  —  this  order  is  the  spatial 
aspect  of  the  whole. 

Yet  order  and  distance  are  no  more  purely  subjective  and 
phenomenal  than  the  point.  To  every  point-particle  in  the 
material  spatial  order  constructed  by  the  scientist  there 
corresponds,  as  we  have  seen,  a  controlling  force  in  the 
environment.  The  remote  thing  is  not  only  the  future  sen- 
sation group,  but  the  force  in  the  not-self  which  will  control 
it  in  response  to  my  movements  and  which,  even  now,  is 
indirectly  effective  in  my  experience.     In  this  way,  space 


SPACE  165 

represents  the  cosmos,  and  not  the  mere  future  and  possible 
experience  of  the  individual.  The  sense  experience  of  the 
individual  is  a  part  of  a  wider  sense  experience  dominated  by- 
foreign  forces.  Now  these  forces  differ  in  the  temporal  order 
of  their  action.  Some  act  more  immediately,  some  more 
remotely  upon  each  other.  In  order  for  one  to  act  upon 
another,  it  must  elicit  and  secure  the  intermediate  action  of 
third  parties.  Distance  and  spatial  order  represent  the  tem- 
poral relations  of  interaction  and  co-operation  of  these  forces. 
The  near  are  those  which  act  more  immediately  upon  each 
other;  the  far  require  the  intermediation  of  more  forces. 
Other  things  being  equal,  the  time  of  this  interaction  is  in- 
versely related  to  what  we  call  the  distance  between  them. 
The  near  act  more  quickly  upon  each  other  than  the  far, 
because  they  are  those  which  require  the  co-operation  of 
fewer  intermediaries.  One  force  B  is  between  two  others  A 
and  C,  when,  in  order  for  one  of  the  two  latter  to  influence 
the  other,  it  must  awaken  and  secure  the  co-operation  of  B. 
This  involves,  of  course,  a  temporal  series  of  interactions 
beginning  with  A  and  ending  with  C,  and  vice  versa.  Thus 
the  spatial  sequences  or  orders  represent  temporal  ones.  The 
metaphysical  secret  of  space  is,  therefore,  this:  the  cosmos 
consists  of  a  multiplicity  of  active  agents  or  forces.  These 
agents  can  act  only  through  the  co-operation  of  each  other. 
But  the  time  necessary  to  secure  this  is  unequal  for  different 
agents,  and  is  linked  up  more  immediately  with  some  than 
with  others. 

The  foregoing  account  of  space  will  become  clearer  if  we 
apply  it  to  the  spatial  relations  of  a  man  with  his  fellow  men ; 


1 66  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

for,  from  our  point  of  view,  the  relations  between  men  are 
typical  of  all  cosmic  relations.  The  nearer  we  are,  the  more 
directly  and  quickly  we  can  co-operate  with  and  affect  the 
lives  of  each  other.  When  we  are  far  from  each  other,  on  the 
other  hand,  we  require  more  indirect  methods  of  communi- 
cation and  interaction,  more  agents  and  emissaries,  and  so  a 
longer  time.  The  differences  of  spatial  location  of  our  bodies 
means  the  fact  that  we  never  act  directly  and  immediately 
upon  each  other,  but  always  through  the  intermediation  of 
other  forces,  and  after  the  interval  of  time  necessary  for  their 
action.  We  can  affect  each  other  only  through  the  co-opera- 
tion of  those  forces  which  make  up  what  we  call  the  inorganic 
world.  To  be  in  the  spatial  neighborhood  of  another  is  to  be 
in  the  temporal  neighborhood  of  his  actions,  and  to  need,  in 
order  to  influence  him,  the  co-operation  of  a  smaller  part 
of  the  whole  environment. 

And  similarly  with  our  spatial  relations  to  what  we  call 
things,  when  those  things  are  not  present  in  our  immediate 
experience.  Just  as  you  are  far  from  me  when  it  would  take  a 
long  time  for  me  to  hear  your  voice  and  see  your  smile,  and  to 
change  that  voice  to  a  higher  key  or  make  that  smile  into  a 
laugh;  so  I  in  my  room  am  far  from  the  tree  on  the  hill  when 
much  time  would  have  to  elapse  for  me  to  get  the  visual  or 
tactual  sensations  which  would  be  determined  in  me  by  the 
forces  acting  there,  or  for  me  to  be  able  so  to  influence  those 
forces  by  my  own  acts  —  such  as  cutting  the  tree  down,  for 
example  —  that  the  sensations  would  differ  or  disappear. 
Just  as  I  locate  your  activities  where  you  and  I  can  interact 
most  directly,  so  I  locate  what  I  call  the  tree  at  the  point 


SPACE  167 

where  I  can  most  directly  and  immediately  aflfect  the  forces 
which  determine  m  my  mind  the  corresponding  sensations. 
I  may  get  sensations  from  very  remote  things  —  I  can,  for 
example,  see  the  sun  —  yet  only  through  the  intermediation 
of  other  things;  and  so  I  locate  the  thing  where  I  can 
directly  influence  these  sensations.  The  candle  is  where  I 
can  extinguish  it;  not  here  where  I  who  receive  its  light  am. 
And  one  thing  is  nearer  to  me  than  another  when  I  can 
control  the  corresponding  sensations  of  the  one  sooner 
than  those  of  the  other;  the  one  lies  between  me  and  the 
other  when  the  latter  can  affect  me  only  by  way  of  the 
former. 

We  have  space  in  common  because  we  have  things  in  com- 
mon, of  which  space  is  a  law.  Thus,  to  be  in  the  same  neigh- 
borhood with  another  means  to  be  in  touch  with  similar 
tree  —  road  —  house-sense  elements.  To  be  exactly  in  the 
same  place  with  another  would  involve  having  identical 
sense  experiences  with  him,  which,  of  course,  is  impossible. 
From  similarity  of  sense  experiences  we  can  infer  identity  of 
controlling  influences,  whence  the  similar  sense  elements  in 
different  minds  are  located  in  the  same  places.  Just  as  I 
recognize  you  to  be  the  same  individual  because  you  greet 
me  with  the  same  voice  and  bodily  aspect,  so  I  recognize  an 
identical  interest  as  playing  through  your  life  and  mine  when 
similar  sense  elements  are  found  in  each.  The  distances  from 
one  thing  to  another  are  the  same  for  different  people  be- 
cause similar  movement  experiences  are  necessary  in  order 
to  pass  from  one  to  another  in  a  given  time,  and  because  the 
time-relations  of  the  corresponding  forces  in  their  action 


1 68  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

upon  us  are  the  same.  The  identity  in  the  order  of  points 
means  that  in  order  to  pass  from  one  thing  to  another  we 
have  to  go  through  similar  determinate  experiences;  in 
other  words,  we  have  to  be  played  upon  by  the  same  forces. 
The  common  spatial  aspect  of  our  experience  represents  the 
relations  of  time  and  co-operation  of  the  common  forces 
which  control  it,  and  our  own  movements  in  response  to 
those  forces.  It  is  evidence  of  an  interest  in  the  repetition  of 
a  certain  kind  of  sense  element.  There  is,  of  course,  never 
exact  repetition,  but  that  union  of  sameness  and  difference 
which  is  the  sign  of  value.  We  can  understand  this  duplica- 
tion if  we  keep  in  mind  that  the  sense  elements  in  the  minds 
of  various  individuals  bear  a  relation  to  the  wider  experience 
which  includes  them  similar  to  that  which  parts  of  each  per- 
sonal experience  bear  to  the  whole.  Just  as  I  find  a  value  in 
the  repetition  of  sense  items  within  my  own  experience  — 
think  of  rhythms,  for  example  —  so  nature  doubtless  finds  a 
value  in  the  repetition  of  content  in  various  minds. 

The  theory  which  we. have  developed  so  far  enables  us  to 
solve  the  problem  of  the  location  of  mind.  From  our  point 
of  view,  the  mind  is  where  it  is  controlled.  Let  us  consider 
the  location  of  the  sense  elements  of  mind,  first.  The  exist- 
ence of  any  sense  element  depends  upon  the  co-operation  of 
forces  which  we  locate,  on  the  one  hand,  at  the  sense  organ 
and,  on  the  other  hand,  at  the  stimulus.  As  a  rule,  we  have 
formed  the  habit  of  referring  the  sense  element  to  the  stimu- 
lus; but  we  can,  with  better  right,  refer  it  to  the  sense  organ. 
Naive  perception,  being  more  interested  in  the  stimulus,  to 
which  the  organism  must  react,  locates  the  sensation  there; 


SPACE  169 

whereas  the  psychologist  and  physiologist,  being  more  con- 
cerned with  its  bodily  determination,  locate  it  at  the  sense 
organ.  If  we  keep  in  mind  what  is  meant  by  localization  we 
shall  not  iind  any  contradiction  in  this  duplicity.  Spatial 
relations  are,  objectively,  just  relations  of  co-operation  and 
differences  in  time  of  activity  of  controlling  forces ;  hence  a 
sense  element  is  where  it  is  controlled;  and,  being  con- 
trolled by  several  forces,  it  has  several  places  of  location. 
Yet  since  the  most  immediate  and  direct  control  is  by  the 
forces  which  play  through  the  sense  organs,  the  man  of 
science  is  ultimately  right  in  locating  it  there. 

The  activities,  on  the  other  hand,  are  "at"  the  sensory, 
motor  and  association  areas  of  the  brain;  for  their  relations 
of  co-operation  and  time  of  action  are  obviously  to  be  estab- 
lished there.  Differences  of  cerebral  location  correspond  to 
differences  in  time  of  interaction  among  them.  The  brain 
is,  in  fact,  just  the  system  of  these  activities. 

Of  the  scientific  concepts  to  be  interpreted,  we  have 
covered,  in  the  general  way  prescribed  by  our  plan,  space 
and  matter.  We  have  yet  to  consider  motion,  the  study  of 
which  will  lead  to  a  somewhat  more  profound  consideration 
of  force  than  we  have  so  far  accorded  to  it. 

First  of  all,  we  must  distinguish  between  the  experience  of 
motion  and  the  scientific  reconstruction.  The  former  is,  of 
course,  a  given  reality;  the  latter  is  a  conceptual  interpre- 
tation, the  reahty  meaning  of  which  the  philosopher  has  to 
find;  and,  in  order  to  do  this,  he  must,  as  in  the  study  of 
space  and  all  other  concepts,  proceed  from  the  direct 
experience  as  a  basis. 


170  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

In  our  direct  experience,  motions  may  be  classified  either 
as  changes  of  our  bodies  in  relation  to  things  or  else  as 
changes  of  things  in  relation  to  our  bodies.  This  is  a  relative 
distinction  from  the  point  of  view  of  an  outsider,  but  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  agents  it  is  absolute;  for  the  former  are 
initiated  by  the  self,  the  latter  by  the  not-self.  The  former 
involve  changes  in  the  movement  sensations,  the  latter  in 
sensations  from  the  other  fields.  The  movements  of  our 
bodies  always  express  a  purpose  of  adaptation  or  control, 
secured  through  a  contact  with  new  things,  an  influx  of  new 
sensations.  We  leave  the  neighborhood  of  certain  things  and 
get  into  the  neighborhood  of  others.  And  this  means,  in 
terms  of  our  metaphysical  interpretation,  that  we  come 
under  the  jurisdiction  of  forces  more  favorable  to  us.  When 
things  move  relatively  to  us,  the  change  in  our  relations  to 
the  environment  is  initiated  there,  rather  than  here. 

Empirical  motions  are  total  individual  facts.   They  begin 
with  a  certain  configuration  of  sense  experience  and  end 
with  a  new  one.    We  call  this,  ordinarily,  movement  from 
one  place  to  another  place ;  but  we  must  remember  that  the 
new  place  does  not  pre-exist  to  our  movement.  Every  place 
is  a  certain  configuration  of  sensation  —  there  must  always 
be  a  thing  to  mark  it;  but  things  are  sensation  groups  which 
depend  upon  the  body.   The  places  which  we  pass  through 
on  our  way  are  again  other  configurations,  which  are  not 
real  before  our  arrival.  Every  place  is  a  transaction  between 
us  and  the  forces  in  the  environment,  and  so  does  not  pre- 
exist; pre-existent  are  only  those  agents  which  are  aroused 
into  action  by  our  motions. 


SPACE  171 

The  scientific  account  of  motion  is  very  different  from  all 
this.  It  presupposes  the  independent  existence  of  both  space 
and  time,  and  conceives  of  motion  as  a  correlation  of  the  two 
effected  by  a  particle.  It  breaks  up  the  total  empirical  body 
moved  into  elementary  particles,  and  the  total  motion  into 
the  motions  of  these.  Now  this  is  clearly  a  reconstruction  of 
the  empirical  facts.  We  know  that  time  has  no  existence 
independent  of  motion  —  that  it  is  itself  only  a  system  of 
motions;  that  space  is  a  system  of  things  or  of  relations  of 
time  and  co-operation  of  the  forces  which  control  things; 
and,  finally,  we  know  that  particles  are  a  reconstruction  of 
empirical  bodies  for  the  purpose  of  altering  and  controlling 
them  —  they  are  prospective  and  pragmatic,  not  present 
realities.  The  entire  reconstruction  of  motion  is  a  descrip- 
tion of  the  potential,  to  use  the  Aristotelian  terminology,  of 
that  which  may  become  actual  under  certain  conditions. 
The  points  to  be  passed  over  and  the  things  which  mark  them 
become  actual  through  motion ;  and  although  it  is  possible  for 
us  or  for  nature  to  break  up  the  total  motion  into  simpler 
motions,  the  latter  do  not  exist  until  this  is  done.  The 
conceptual  reconstruction  has,  however,  metaphysical  sig- 
nificance, in  so  far  as  it  reveals  a  wider  field  of  forces  in 
the  environment  than  those  which  appear  immediately  in 
the  empirical  motion. 

Motion  is  doubtless  an  accompaniment  of  all  change.  For 
every  change  is  determined  by  some  activity  and  involves 
new  relations  of  co-operation  and  time  of  influencing  other 
elements.  Every  change  is  an  interaction,  and  so  must 
involve  such  readjustments.   The  men  of  science  are  there- 


172  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

fore  right,  it  seems  to  me,  in  seeking  to  correlate  all  change 
with  motion,  from  which,  however,  it  does  not  follow  that 
change  can  be  reduced  to  motion.  And  one  may  even  go 
further,  I  think,  and  assert  that  all  activity  involves  motion; 
for  every  activity  is  directed  upon  and  results  in  some 
change. 

We  come  now  to  the  last  of  our  group  of  concepts  —  that 
of  force.  The  scientific  concept  of  force,  as  it  has  been  de- 
veloped recently,  has  reached  a  degree  of  abstraction  remov- 
ing it  far  from  the  concrete  experience  from  which  it  has 
arisen.  Originally  force  meant  cause.  The  idea  was  derived 
from  our  own  causal  activity  in  relation  to  the  outer  world, 
and  implied,  directly  or  remotely,  activity.  Since  all  causal 
activity  involves  motion,  force  came  to  mean,  cause  of 
motion,  that  is,  activity  governing  motion.  But,  when  it 
was  seen  that  we  have  no  intuition  of  the  activities  in  nature, 
the  connotation  of  activity,  and  indeed  of  cause,  was 
dropped,  and  force  came  to  be  identified  simply  with  the 
empirically  ascertainable  factors  in  the  motion  of  bodies  — 
with  mass-accelerations.  Both  mass  and  acceleration  are 
empirical  concepts  determinable  by  certain  tests.  They 
are  both,  to  be  sure,  relative  concepts,  yet  they  clearly 
denote  facts  or  qualities  of  things  in  their  relations  to  one 
another. 

The  purification  of  the  concept  of  mass  of  all  connotation 
of  activity  has  been  heralded  by  the  so-called  descriptive 
school  of  mechanics  as  a  great  advance;  which  is  surely  the 
case,  from  the  standpoint  of  strictly  empirical  science.  Yet, 
as  we  have  shown  in  our  chapter  on  Causality,  it  is  impossible 


SPACE  173 

to  dispense  with  activity  in  a  final  description  of  change,  if, 
as  science  intends,  the  description  is  to  be  a  means  for  the 
prediction  of  the  future.  From  the  metaphysical  standpoint, 
all  change  is  determined  through  activities,  whence  the 
notion  of  force,  in  order  to  be  complete,  must  include  that 
idea.  And  the  popular  scientific  use  of  the  concept  —  and 
even  the  learned  use,  unless  strictly  on  its  guard  —  contains 
this. 

The  ordinary  use  of  the  concepts  of  gravitation,  elec- 
tricity, magnetism,  etc.,  illustrates  this.  They  all  signify 
something  more  than  the  purely  observable  elements  of  the 
phenomena  —  an  admittedly  unknown,  yet  clearly  recog- 
nized fact  of  necessity  or  causal  determination.  And  we,  of 
course,  in  the  present  chapter,  have  used  the  concept  of 
force  with  this  richer  connotation. 

The  concept  of  force  as  mass-acceleration  is,  in  fact,  a 
highly  specialized  idea  belonging  to  the  science  of  mechanics. 
It  can  therefore  be  appHed  in  nature  only  so  far  as  nature  is 
mechanical.  When  we  recognize  other  forces  in  nature  — 
chemical  and  vital  —  we  call  attention  to  activities  which 
manifest  themselves  otherwise  than  in  masses  and  accelera- 
tions. Let  us  now,  however,  consider  force  in  this  narrower 
and  specialized  sense. 

Since  force  is  a  product  of  mass  and  acceleration,  we  can 
discover  its  metaphysical  meaning  only  through  an  analysis 
of  these  ideas.  Let  us  consider  acceleration  first.  What  is 
acceleration  ?  Mathematically,  it  is  the  second  derivative  of 
space  divided  by  time ;  it  is  the  limit  of  increase  of  velocity 
with  reference  to  time.    The  concept  arises  through  com- 


174  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

parison  of  a  series  of  changing  velocities,  apart  from  which 
it  has  no  meaning.  Acceleration,  therefore,  does  not  describe 
a  state  of  a  moving  body,  but  a  comparison  of  one  state  with 
another  —  a  comparison  of  velocities ;  it  therefore  involves 
the  history  of  a  moving  particle.  From  acceleration  we  are, 
consequently,  driven  back  on  velocity.  But  velocity  itself, 
being  rate  of  change  of  position,  involves  comparison  —  that 
between  one  motion  and  another.  Unless,  therefore,  bodies 
have  memory  of  their  past  acts,  both  velocity  and  accelera- 
tion exist  only  for  us,  not  for  them.  This  would  not  impugn 
their  utility  at  all;  for,  in  giving  us  knowledge  of  the  history 
of  things,  they  help  us  to  predict  the  future.  Apart  therefore 
from  the  history  of  a  thing,  the  analysis  of  its  acceleration 
takes  us  back  to  its  motion,  as  the  only  aspect  which  can  be 
asserted  of  it  as  actual.  But  we  have  already  studied  the 
metaphysical  significance  of  this.  Yet  velocity  and  accelera- 
tion are  not  without  their  own  significance.  For  they  indi- 
cate quahties  of  the  activities  governing  motion  —  their 
ability  to  secure  a  rapid  change  of  motions,  together  with 
the  various  novel  contacts  with  sense  elements  which  this 
involves.  Acceleration  and  velocity  are,  after  all,  laws  of 
a  body's  behaviour,  and  therefore  indicate  its  plans  and 
its  ability  to  carry  them  out,  with  the  co-operation  of 
others. 

As  for  the  mass  of  a  body,  it  is,  on  the  one  hand,  a  quahty 
which  determines  motions  in  other  bodies  and,  on  the  other, 
enables  it  to  resist  such  influences  of  other  bodies  as  would 
make  for  chajige  in  its  own  motion.  It  is,  on  the  one  face, 
inertia  or  resistance,  and  on  the  other,  power  of  determina- 


SPACE  175 

tion.  Our  own  experience  of  mass  contains  these  two  aspects: 
the  weight  or  mass  of  things  is  that  in  them  which  resists 
our  efforts  at  moving  them ;  yet,  on  the  other  hand,  our  own 
ability  to  move  them  is  a  function  of  our  own  weight  or 
mass.  Mass,  therefore,  indicates  power  to  influence  other 
things  and  to  resist  influences  —  we  can  give  no  further 
metaphysical  interpretation  of  it. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

THE  NATURE  OF  KNOWLEDGE  AND   THE 
METAPHYSICAL   STATUS   OF  UNIVERSALS 

IT  cannot  be  my  purpose  in  this  treatise  to  construct  a 
complete  theory  of  knowledge ;  but  in  this  chapter  I  wish 
to  indicate  and  defend  the  general  epistemological  point  of 
view  which  I  have  adopted. 

What  is  knowledge  ?  All  knowledge  is  mediated  through 
ideas.  Now  an  idea  is  an  activity  of  the  self  with  a  unique 
power,  representation  —  the  vicarious  presence  to  the  mind 
of  something  else  called  its  object.  The  idea  offers  itself  as 
that  other;  whatever  qualities  it  possesses  are  in  mind  not 
as  its  own,  but  as  another's.  For  example,  when  I  have  an 
idea  of  the  sea,  I  have  a  vague  experience  of  color  and  exten- 
sion, with  the  sense  that  this  is  the  sea.  Oftentimes  there  is 
a  seeming  presence  of  an  object  without  any  clear  experience 
of  its  quaHties.  Thus  casually  the  idea  of  Paris  may  come 
into  my  mind  when,  if  rapidly  crowded  out  by  other  ideas,  I 
may  have  only  a  vivid  awareness  of  an  object  without  any 
image  of  it.  Yet  originally  every  idea  is  at  once  the  seeming 
presence  of  an  object  and  also  an  experience  of  its  qualities ; 
only  through  habituation  and  the  lapse  of  time,  or  through 
rapid  passage  through  the  mind,  does  the  latter  become 
weakened,  or  even  vanish.  The  more  adequate  an  idea  is, 
the  more  fully  does  it  reveal  the  nature  of  the  object,  the 

176 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERSALS        1 77 

more  complete  is  the  image  which  it  presents.  There  are, 
however,  many  stages  between  the  mere  seeming  presence 
of  an  object  and  adequacy.  For  example,  if  you  tell  me  that 
you  are  going  to  describe  a  person  to  me,  I  already  have  an 
idea  of  him  before  you  begin ;  there  is  a  seeming  presence  of 
the  man  in  the  mind,  although  not  a  single  characteristic  of 
him  has  been  told  to  me ;  when  now  you  go  on  and  tell  me 
what  he  is  like,  my  idea  becomes  more  adequate,  because  it 
supplies  the  qualities  of  the  object  to  me ;  if  you  render  my 
idea  more  definite  by  supporting  it  with  a  photograph,  you 
increase  its  cognitive  value  still  further;  nevertheless,  your 
own  memory  of  the  person's  looks,  especially  if  also  strength- 
ened by  the  picture,  is  a  far  better  idea  than  mine. 

That  an  idea  can  represent,  can  seem  to  bring  before  the 
mind  something  which  is  not  itself,  can  be  demonstrated  by 
examining  some  actual  cases  and  showing  that  any  other 
interpretation  of  the  facts  leads  to  absurdities. 

First,  memory.  When  I  remember  my  friend  of  long  ago  it 
is  as  if  he  were  present  before  me;  the  sight  of  his  face  and 
figure,  the  sound  of  his  voice,  are  as  if  they  were  there.  My 
memory  idea  offers  itself  as  a  substitute  for  him;  and  in  its 
presence  I  feel  again  the  same  emotions  that  I  felt  when  he 
was  near.  Yet,  of  course,  my  friend  is  not  present;  he  died 
long  ago;  and,  when  I  reflect,  I  recognize  that  my  pale  and 
shadowy  memories  are  not  the  clear  and  definite  face  and 
form  of  the  man  I  knew.  I  must  grant,  on  the  one  hand,  the 
ability  of  memory  to  simulate  the  past  —  else  how  could  I 
know  that  there  ever  was  a  past  at  all  ?  and,  on  the  other 
hand,  I  must  admit  that  my  memory  is  not  the  past,  else 


178  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

there  would  be  no  past  —  all  things  would  be  present,  and 
the  flux  would  be  an  illusion. 

Second,  our  ideas  of  our  fellow  men  are  a  vicarious,  not  a 
real  presence  of  them.  As  I  watch  my  friend,  see  him  laugh 
and  move  and  hear  him  speak,  it  is  as  if  his  very  thoughts 
and  feelings  and  decisions  were  present  in  my  mind;  and, 
having  it  so,  I  think  that  I  know  his  soul.  Yet  his  inner  life 
is  not  actually  content  of  my  soul,  as  my  own  is;  for,  when 
I  reflect,  I  observe  that  what  seemed  to  be  this,  when  com- 
pared with  my  own  inner  life  which  I  feel  simultaneously,  is 
relatively  cool  and  pale;  however  vivid  and  poignant  it  be, 
as  when  I  am  in  full  sympathy  with  him  or  love  him,  it  is 
nevertheless  like  an  echo  or  shadow  in  comparison  with  my 
own.  After  all,  it  is  only  certain  ideas  of  feelings  and  deci- 
sions and  convictions,  attached  to  his  bodily  expressions, 
which  take  the  place  in  my  mind  of  the  corresponding  real 
events  in  his.  That  this  vicarious  self  of  the  man  is  not  the 
man  himself  I  know,  not  only  by  comparison  with  my  own 
real  self,  but  also  because  of  the  countless  mistakes  into 
which  it  leads  me  ...  I  so  often  discover  that  the  feeling 
which  seemed  to  be  his  was  not  present  in  him  at  all. 

Third,  imagination  is  a  clear  case  of  meaning.  As  I  watch 
the  performers  in  the  play,  it  is  as  if  a  real  prince  and  prin- 
cess were  walking  and  talking  on  the  stage  —  no,  not  on  the 
stage,  but  on  an  English  greensward;  yet  we  know  that  they 
were  dead  centuries  past.  And  not  the  aesthetic  only,  but 
the  most  ordinary  imaginings  also,  like  sleep  dreams  and 
day  dreams,  are  cases  in  point.  Now  in  winter  I  am  filled 
with  the  fancy  that  the  sun  is  warm  and  that  I  float  down  a 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERSALS        1 79 

stream  bordered  with  verdure.  Of  course,  only  images  are 
in  mind,  but  it  is  as  if  the  real  river  and  boat  and  foUage 
were  present. 

All  ordinary  perception  involves  representation.  When, 
for  example,  I  see  a  house,  only  one  side  is  given,  of  the  rest 
only  images  are  present;  yet  what  I  perceive  is  the  whole 
house.  This  means  that  the  images  of  the  sides  not  seen  are 
to  me  as  if  they  were  given  sensations;  they  undertake  to 
be  what  they  are  not;  in  fine,  they  represent.  But  the  part 
played  by  representation  in  perception  has  been  so  fully 
treated  by  me  in  the  chapter  on  that  subject  that  I  need  not 
pursue  it  here.  I  may  mention,  however,  the  necessity  for 
representation  in  order  to  explain  errors  of  perception. 

Finally,  the  concept  is  a  representative  idea.  Concepts  are 
of  two  kinds,  universal  and  individual.  The  universal  con- 
cept means,  that  is,  undertakes  to  bring  into  the  mind  vica- 
riously, any  individual  of  a  certain  kind.  Thus  the  concept 
blue  "  is  for  me  not  some  one  blue  thing,  but  any  blue  thing 
whatever.  Unless,  m  this  way,  we  were  able  to  represent  any 
individual,  a  large  part  of  reasoning  would  be  impossible  — 
all  that  part  which  depends  upon  the  use  of  variables  and 
classes.  And  that  the  concept  does  not  actually  bring  its 
object  into  the  mind,  but  only  represents  it,  is  clear;  for 
what  we  are  able  to  perceive  is  always  a  definite  individual, 
not  any  individual  —  a  particular  blue  book,  for  example, 
not  any  blue  book.  Or  again,  the  idea  "  blue  "  is  an  indi- 
vidual existence  in  the  mind  of  the  person  who  thinks  blue 
books;  but  what  it  means  is  a  universal;  hence  the  idea 
must  be  able  to  represent  more  than  it  actually  is  itself. 


l8o  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

The  individual  concept  proves  equally  the  fact  of  repre- 
sentation. It  means  not  any  individual,  but  the  individual 
of  such  a  quality  or  description.  "  The  blue  book  "  refers 
not  to  any  or  all  blue  books,  but  to  some  particular  blue 
book  answering  to  the  description.  That  I  can  use  an 
individual  concept  without  having  its  object  as  a  part  of  my 
mind  is  clear  from  all  those  cases  where  I  try  to  find  some- 
thing to  fit  a  description  given  me  by  another  person;  or 
when  I  infer  by  a  process  of  reasoning  to  the  existence  of  a 
thing  incapable  of  direct  verification.  Thus,  "the  president 
of  the  United  States  "  whom  I  look  for  in  the  crowd  but  do 
not  see,  or  "the  pineal  gland  in  my  brain,"  are  examples  of 
these  ideas.  There  would  be  no  sense  in  my  looking  if  I  had 
the  president  before  my  eyes,  and  clearly  my  own  pineal 
gland  could  never  become  part  of  my  consciousness.  This 
type  of  knowledge  is  what  Russell  calls  "  knowledge  by 
description."  {Probkfns  of  Philosophy,  Cha-pter  S-)  It  differs 
from  memory  in  being  independent  of  personal  contact 
with  the  objects  known. 

In  the  foregoing  cases  we  have  found  abundant  evidence 
of  the  existence  of  knowledge  through  ideas;  but  we  have 
not  proved  that  this  is  the  only  type  of  knowledge.  Is  there 
not  a  more  immediate  or  direct  way  of  knowing  —  by  per- 
sonal contact  or  experience  with  things  ?  The  distinction 
between  knowing  merely  through  descriptions,  or  even 
through  memories,  and  knowing  by  actual  Hving  with  things 
is  often  made  by  the  common  man  as  well  as  by  the  phi- 
losopher. The  superiority  of  the  latter  type  is  matter  of 
almost  universal  assertion ;  indeed,  many  feel  that  it  is  the 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERSALS        l8l 

only  mode  of  knowing  which  really  deserves  to  be  called 
knowledge;  the  other  being  a  mere  substitute  or  makeshift 
for  it.  Yet  I  shall  try  to  show  that  all  knowledge  involves 
ideas. 

First,  however,  let  us  ask  how  much  we  could  know  by 
this  supposed  other  way  of  knowing.  Plainly,  only  so  much 
as  could  become  content  of  the  mind  at  a  given  moment. 
We  could  not  know  by  direct  experience  the  content  of 
another's  mind,  or  parts  of  physical  things  which  we  do  not 
have  under  our  eyes,  or  the  past,  even  our  own  past;  but  we 
could  thus  know  the  immediate  sense  data,  the  given  ele- 
ments of  things  perceived  through  the  senses,  and  our  own 
activities,  with  the  images  which  are  intertwined  with  them ; 
for  all  these  latter  things  can  become  parts  of  the  mind. 
And  to  be  part  of  the  mind  means,  as  I  tried  to  prove  in  the 
first  chapter,  to  be  in  contact  with  the  self,  with  the  activi- 
ties. We  could  know  directly,  or  immediately,  or  by  ac- 
quaintance with,  that  with  which  we  come  in  contact;  that 
which  at  a  given  moment  we  are  grown  together  with,  and 
form  a  unique  whole  with,  called  a  mind. 

Recent  thinkers,  notably  James  and  Perry,  have  made 
much  of  this  type  of  knowledge  and  have  emphasized  the 
fact  that  it  involves  the  entrance  of  the  object  known  into 
the  mind.  Here  there  is  no  mere  vicarious  presence  of  the 
object  through  the  idea;  here  the  presence  is  "  real  "  —  the 
thing  itself  is  an  actual  and  genuine  part  of  the  mind  which 
knows  it.  Yet  the  account  which  these  thinkers  give  of  the 
fact  is  unsatisfactory,  because  they  have  never  given  a  satis- 
factory account  of  mind  and  of  what  is  involved  in  the  en- 


1 82  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

trance  of  a  thing  into  the  mind.  In  chapter  one  I  showed 
the  insufficiency  of  their  reduction  of  the  relation  of  being 
in  mind  to  the  relation  of  being  reacted  to  by  the  nervous 
system.  Besides,  direct  knowledge  involves  the  self  or  per- 
son, a  factor  not  recognized  by  these  philosophers.  Without 
contact  with  the  self,  no  mere  grouping  of  sense  elements 
could  constitute  a  knowing  of  them;  and  no  mere  bodily 
reaction  —  a  purely  physical  event  —  could  make  them  into 
a  mind;  the  elements  would  remain  what  they  were  before, 
parts  of  the  physical  world,  with  only  another  special  rela- 
tion among  them  within  that  world. 

But  not  any  and  every  contact  of  the  self  with  things 
suffices  to  make  a  knowing  of  them;  there  must  be  a  contact 
with  a  special  part  of  the  self  —  with  ideas.  The  contact  of 
my  pleasure  with  blue,  the  impinging  of  my  desire  upon  this 
sweet  taste,  does  not  of  itself  constitute  a  knowledge  of  blue 
or  sweet.  Knowledge  of  sense  data  exists  only  when  they  are 
recognized,  classified  or  otherwise  treated  by  ideas.  The 
seeming  noetic  character  of  the  other  contacts  is  due  to  an 
accompanying  contact  with  ideas.  My  pleasure  in  a  thing, 
my  desire  for  it,  are  simultaneous  with  some  interpreta- 
tion of  it  through  ideas.  The  bare  presence  of  an  element  in 
the  mind  seems  to  involve  knowledge  because  it  is  impos- 
sible to  suppress  recognition.  Even  the  novel  and  surprising 
are  not  utterly  uninterpreted  —  they  fit  into  some  system  of 
ideas,  even  if  a  large  and  vague  one.  Mere  hfe  with  things, 
mere  action  of  desire  or  pleasure  upon  them,  is  not  a  knowl- 
edge of  them.  The  peculiarity  of  knowledge  by  acquaint- 
ance does  not  consist  in  an  absence  of  ideas,  but  rather  in  a 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERS.\LS        1 83 

contact  of  ideas  with  what  they  mean.  It  is  this  which 
gives  to  this  tj^De  of  knowledge  its  poignancy,  its  fulhiess.  In 
all  other  types  of  knowledge,  as  we  have  shown,  contact  is 
absent. 

Another  reason  why  the  mere  contact  of  the  self  with  a 
thing  may  be  thought  to  involve  knowledge  is  because  the 
relation  which  exists  between  pleasure  or  desire  and  their 
objects  is  analogous  to  the  relation  between  the  idea  and 
its  object.  The  touch  of  any  one  of  these  activities  with  its 
object  involves  a  true  subject-object  relation;  there  is  a 
direction  of  one  upon  the  other,  of  the  self  upon  the  thing; 
or  a  coming  of  one  to  the  other,  of  the  thing  to  the  self;  just 
as  in  the  application  of  ideas,  the  idea  means  the  sense  datum 
and  the  datum  fits  into  the  idea.  Finally,  there  is  still 
another  reason  why  ideas  are  supposed  not  to  function  in 
immediate  knowledge  —  the  large  difficulty  of  finding  them 
there  in  certain  cases.  Originally,  every  idea,  as  already 
explained,  is  an  image;  but  this  is  often  attenuated  to 
such  an  extent  that  no  easily  recognizable  image  remains. 
In  recognition  especially,  in  the  daily  contact  with  familiar 
things,  the  image  tends  to  be  supplanted  by  a  feeling.  Even 
if,  as  when  we  look  for  a  thing,  a  clear  image  has  preceded, 
the  contact  with  the  thing  when  we  find  it  dissipates  the 
image.  Yet  the  idea  remains  —  the  thing  comes  to  us  as 
fitting  into  something,  as  fulfilling  a  function  or  activity; 
there  is  a  shock,  a  contact,  an  interaction  with  some- 
thing which  is  neither  feeling  nor  volition.  There  is  a 
going  out  of  the  self  to  meet  and  greet  and  appropriate. 
Even  when  there  is  neither  the  clear  presence  of  an  image 


184  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

nor  any  application  of  a  name,  the  duality,  the  transaction 
exists. 

It  is  no  part  of  our  problem  to  enter  into  the  psychology 
of  meaning,  of  the  unique  power  of  ideas  to  seem  to  bring 
to  the  mind  another  than  themselves;  yet  a  consideration 
of  it  will  help  us  to  a  closer  understanding  of  knowledge. 
There  are  several  theories  of  meaning  which  will  repay 
examination. 

First,  there  is  the  theory  of  meaning  as  due  to  a  process  of 
accretion  of  sensations  and  images  around  a  given  bit  of 
content  —  this  forward  and  developing  movement  and 
enrichment  corresponding  to  that  sense  of  more,  of  full 
reality,  which  is  the  distinctive  character  of  representative 
ideas.  Thus,  the  meaning  of  a  memory  idea  would  be 
equated  to  the  continual  coming  in  of  new  and  richer  mem- 
ories, a  process  which  always  occurs  when  one  recalls  a  past 
thing  or  situation.  In  other  words,  the  meaning  of  an  image 
is  reduced  to  the  process  of  enriching  the  image  by  means  of 
other  images.  Well,  it  is  of  course  true  that  an  idea,  fre- 
quently if  not  always,  does  give  rise  to  a  chain  of  associated 
ideas,  whereby  it  becomes  more  precise  and  adequate  —  one 
idea  leads  on  to  a  whole  cluster  of  related  ideas.  Yet  it  is 
impossible  to  reduce  the  meaning  of  an  idea  to  the  chain  of 
associated  ideas,  or  to  the  linking  of  one  element  in  the  chain 
to  another;  for  the  first  idea  that  arises  already  has  mean- 
ing. An  idea  has  meaning  ah  initio,  before  any  idea  is  as- 
sociated to  it.  The  idea  approaches  adequacy  through 
association,  but  its  original  quaUty  as  meaning  cannot  be 
thus  explained. 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERSALS        1 85 

According  to  another  theory,  meaning  is  simultaneous 
rather  than  successive  context.  One  sensation  or  image  can- 
not make  a  meaning,  but  two  can,  it  is  asserted,  when  one  is 
the  meaning  of  the  other.  For  example,  that  the  side  of 
the  house  that  I  see  means  the  whole  house  is  due  to  the 
fact  that  it  exists  for  me  in  a  context  of  images  of  the  rest  of 
the  house,  these  images,  it  is  claimed,  being  psychologically- 
equivalent  to  the  house.  It  is  not  the  transition  from  one 
image  to  another  which  makes  a  meaning,  as  according  to 
the  previous  explanation,  but  the  fact  that  one  image  or 
sensation  is  next  to  another.  The  objection  to  this  theory, 
however,  is  precisely  the  same  as  the  objection  to  the  last: 
the  image  or  other  mental  content  which  forms  the  context 
of  the  central  one  itself  has  meaning,  as  is  the  case  with  the 
image  of  the  other  side  of  the  house  in  our  illustration.  If 
the  meaning  of  the  sensation  is  explained  through  associated 
images,  how  explain  that  of  the  images?  With  reference  to 
the  sensation  ?  But  surely  this  would  not  serve;  for  the 
meaning  of  the  images  is  quite  different  from  the  content 
given  in  sensation,  namely,  just  that  which  is  not  given.  It 
is  of  course  true  that  a  sensation  has  meaning  only  when 
there  is  an  associated  image;  for  sensations  cannot,  of 
themselves,  mean  anything;  they  are  physical  objects,  not 
mental  activities;  they  simply  are  what  they  are ;  they  can- 
not also  know.  But  how  explain  the  meaning  of  the  images  ? 
We  come  back  again  to  the  old  problem.  It  will  not  help  to 
appeal  to  contextual  images  in  the  fringe;  for  these  very 
images  also  have  meaning;  how  then  could  you  explain  their 
meaning  ? 


1 86  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

The  last  resort  is  to  attitude,  kinaesthetic  and  affectional. 
A  content  has  meaning  when  there  is  attached  to  it  the  same 
reactions  or  set  of  body,  or  the  same  mood  or  desire  or  other 
activity,  as  the  object  meant  would  awaken,  if  itself  present. 
Thus,  according  to  this  type  of  theory,  the  image  of  my 
friend  has  meaning  because  I  feel  towards  it  just  as  I  should 
toward  my  friend,  were  he  here.  And  the  advantage  of 
this  explanation  is  that  it  seems  to  cover  the  cases  where 
mental  content  has  meaning  without  the  clear  presence  of  an 
image.  For  example,  the  picture  of  my  absent  friend  has 
meaning;  yet  no  explicit  image  of  him  arises  when  I  look  at 
it.  And  the  verbal  idea  "  Carl  "  has  for  me  the  same  mean- 
ing, although  again  I  cannot  always  discover  in  it  an  expHcit 
image  of  my  friend.  What  makes  the  difference  between  the 
word  ''  Carl,"  which  has  meaning  for  me  who  have  known  the 
man,  and  the  same  word  which  has  no  meaning  for  you  who 
have  not  seen  him  ?  Is  it  not  that,  in  my  case,  the  word  is 
associated  with  numerous  activities  which  are  recalled  when 
I  say  it  or  hear  it  ?  The  noetic  quality  of  immediate  experi- 
ence would  be  explained  in  the  same  way;  recognition  would 
be  the  reawakening  of  old  activities.  We  can  express  this 
theory  briefly  as  follows :  the  meaning  of  a  mental  content  is 
the  value  of  the  object  which  it  represents.  One  thing  means 
the  same  as  another,  substitutes  itself  for  another,  or  pre- 
sents it  vicariously,  when  it  acquires  the  value  of  the  other. 
Whatever  I  act  and  feel  the  same  towards  means  the  same. 

Yet,  despite  its  seeming  plausibility,  this  last  theory  puts 
the  cart  before  the  horse.  An  idea  has  the  value  of  its  object 
because  it  represents;    it  does  not  represent  the  object 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERSALS        1 87 

because  it  has  an  equivalent  worth.  It  is  impossible  that  a 
value  should  give  a  presentiment  of  an  object.  The  image, 
the  picture,  the  word  could  not  have  for  me  the  value  of  the 
original  did  they  not  somehow  offer  me  vicarious  sight  of  the 
object,  which  the  phenomena  of  mood  and  reaction  cannot 
do.  The  arousal  of  an  old  desire  or  feeling  cannot  give  a 
vision  of  an  object.  Every  idea,  in  substituting  itself  for  its 
object,  reawakens  the  attitude  appropriate  to  it,  and  so 
possesses  a  kindred  value;  but  this  does  not  imply  the  iden- 
tity of  the  idea  and  value.  A  reawakened  activity  would  of 
itself  be  blind  and  objectless. 

We  must,  therefore,  admit  the  uniqueness  of  meaning;  yet 
we  can,  I  think,  understand  its  genesis  as  follows.  The 
functioning  of  the  body  in  contact  with  things  is  not  a 
momentary  event  w^ithout  issue  to  the  parties  to  the  trans- 
action. The  thing  is  transformed  in  divers  ways  in  which  we 
are  not  here  interested;  the  body  is  moulded  to  fit  the  thing. 
This  mould  or  adjustment  persists  in  the  absence  of  the 
object;  it  has  a  double  inner  side:  on  the  one  hand,  a  tend- 
ency to  return  to  the  object  or  keep  away  from  it,  accord- 
ing as  contact  with  it  was  pleasant  or  unpleasant  —  desire 
or  aversion;  on  the  other  hand,  an  image  of  the  thing  —  an 
idea  of  it.  Just  as  desire  and  aversion  are  echoes  of  the  reac- 
tions of  the  self  to  the  thing,  so  the  idea  is  an  echo  of  the 
thing  itself.  Again,  just  as  every  activity  is  kept  in  the  form 
of  an  indelible  tendency  to  its  repetition,  so  every  contact 
with  an  object  persists  in  the  form  of  a  picture  of  it.  The 
self  not  only  simulates  its  own  activities,  positively  or 
negatively;  it  also  simulates  the  objects  of  those  activities. 


1 88  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

And  finally,  just  as  desire  and  aversion  contain  something 
of  the  pleasure  or  pain  of  the  original  activity,  yet  cannot 
possess  their  complete  value;  so  the  idea  represents,  but 
does  not  present,  its  object.  Originally,  the  image  is  an  ele- 
ment in  a  plan  of  return  or  avoidance;  it  has  a  practical 
function  of  guidance.  If,  however,  the  organism  is  unable  to 
return  to  the  thing  which  gave  it  pleasure,  the  idea  still  per- 
sists as  a  memory,  and  the  longing  or  fear  that  were  attached 
to  it  are  transformed  into  a  merely  contemplative  sweetness 
or  bitterness.  Thus  the  image  is  born  of  a  contact  of  the  self 
with  a  thing,  and  has  meaning  only  because  of  this  contact. 
Not  only  is  the  sense  world  mirrored  in  the  idea;  but 
the  self  also  can  be  thus  reflected.  The  activities  within 
the  body  leave  their  traces  there;  and  so  ideas  of  the 
self  arise.  And  just  as  our  ideas  of  the  sense  world  are 
originally  plans  to  bring  us  back  to  contact  with  it  and 
action  upon  it;  so  our  ideas  of  self  are  similarly  designs 
to  act  again  as  we  acted  before.  But  these  designs  may 
fail,  when  the  idea  becomes  a  mere  memory  of  past  deeds. 
Or  else  the  elements  of  ideas  of  past  acts  may  be  com- 
bined into  a  new  structure,  an  intention  to  novel  action;  a 
new  tendency  projects  an  image  of  a  new  act.  If  the  deed 
is  carried  out,  the  idea  was  a  foreknowledge  of  the  future; 
if,  on  the  other  hand,  the  deed  be  frustrated  through  ob- 
stacles in  the  sense  world,  or  if,  because  of  counter  tend- 
encies, no  attempt  be  made  to  carry  it  through,  it  was  a 
dream,  an  imagined  happiness.  Finally,  the  observed  ac- 
tions of  the  bodies  of  our  fellows  also  arouse  ideas  of  the  self. 
But  these,  since  they  come  from  without  rather  than  from 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERS.\LS        1 89 

within,  are  referred  away  to  their  external  causes;  they 
are  located  in  the  fellow  man's  body;  they  constitute  a 
knowledge  of  his  inner  life,  not  of  ours. 

This  knowledge  of  our  fellow  men  is  much  like  a  dream. 
Like  a  dream,  the  elements  of  the  ideas  which  constitute  it 
are  reflections  of  acti\dties  which  we  ourselves  once  carried 
out  or  might  carry  out.  We  understand  the  acts  of  our  fel- 
lows only  on  the  basis  of  what  we  have  done  or  longed  to  do. 
And  just  as  in  a  dream  the  elements  of  past  deeds  are  com- 
bined to  make  a  new  structure;  so,  through  the  sight  of 
total  acts  which  we  ourselves  never  performed  in  their 
wholeness,  we  get  ideas  of  desires  and  feelings  which  we  our- 
selves never  knew.  But  the  idea  of  the  fellow  man  differs 
from  the  dream  in  two  ways.  Unhke  the  dream,  it  is  con- 
nected with  a  sensible  presence  which  gives  to  it  a  superior 
feeling  of  reality;  and,  unlike  the  dream,  it  happens  to 
correspond  to  a  reality;  it  is  true,  at  least  partially.  Yet, 
in  large  measure,  of  course,  our  boasted  knowledge  of  our 
fellow  men  is  a  dream.  Should  we  waken,  what  a  disillusion! 
We  see  the  laughter  and  the  motion;  the  lips  move  and 
the  eyes  smile  and  the  limbs  sway;  ideas  of  gladness  and 
abandon  arise  in  our  minds.  Yet  we  never  can  verify  them, 
because  we  never  can  make  the  represented  life  our  own ;  so 
perhaps  what  seemed  to  be  joy  in  the  dancer  was  only  an 
echo  of  our  own  joy  of  observation.  Unconsciously  we  sub- 
stitute for  the  ideas  which,  ingenuously  aroused,  would  give 
us  knowledge  of  the  inner  life  of  our  fellow  men  our  own 
reactions  to  their  expressive  movements  and  our  precon- 
ceived notions  of  how  they  ought  to  feel.   And  so  the  fellow 


190  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

man  becomes  a  mere  alter  ego,  a  reflection  of  ourselves,  and 
we  keep  ourselves  in  a  dream. 

Ideas  are,  in  the  first  instance,  the  images  of  individual 
things  in  the  environment.  All  other  types  of  ideas,  imag- 
ination and  the  concept,  are  derivatives.  It  may  happen, 
through  some  process  within  the  organism,  that  several 
simple  ideas  are  combined  into  one  idea,  to  which  nothing 
as  a  whole  in  the  real  world  corresponds.  The  idea  will 
still  seem  to  bring  an  object  before  the  mind,  will  still 
have  meaning,  because  each  of  its  elements  was  born  out 
of  a  contact  with  a  real  thing;  but  it  will  be  fancy  and  not 
memory,  because  its  total  object  has  never  been  a  real 
part  of  the  world.  Now  the  concept  is  also  a  derivative 
of  images  born  of  a  contact  with  real  things.  Through 
constant  contact  with  things,  the  several  images  of  them 
become  overlaid  one  with  another,  so  that  no  single  clear 
picture  stands  forth;  this  mass,  when  associated  to  a  word 
or  other  sign,  is  a  concept.  The  concept  is  no  mere  word, 
because  it  has  a  meaning;  nor  is  it  a  mere  tendency  to 
react  when  the  word  is  uttered,  for  it  offers  a  vision  of  the 
object — not  so  simple  as  the  single  image,  yet  richer  in  that 
it  refers  to  a  whole  group  of  objects.  The  concept  may  be  of 
simple  sense  quahties,  like  blue ;  or  of  simple  relations,  like 
greater  than;  or  of  complexities  of  these,  like  chair  or  me- 
chanical system;  in  all  cases,  it  is  a  resultant  born  of  contact 
with  many  individual  things,  bom  of  many  immediate  blue-, 
chair-,  quantity-experiences.  The  concept  is  a  condensation 
of  images,  and  hence  the  quintessence  of  one's  experiences 
with  the  corresponding  objects.    It  is,  however,  som.ething 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERSALS        I9I 

more  ■ —  the  construction  of  the  idea  of  a  new  object  —  a 
universal.  The  result  of  this  process  of  elimination  and 
synthesis  is  a  new  formation,  which  henceforth  may  take  the 
place  of  the  group  of  individual  objects  through  which  it  was 
constructed.  The  universal  has  meaning,  like  the  elementary 
images  out  of  which  it  was  formed ;  but  what  it  means  is  no 
one  of  the  objects  which  they  meant,  but  something  sui 
generis,  unique. 

The  above  account  of  the  formation  of  universal  ideas 
does  not  pretend  to  adequacy.  We  have  neglected,  for  the 
sake  of  simplicity  of  presentation,  the  social  factors  in  the 
construction.  The  individual  does  not  construct  these  ideas 
by  himself;  he  learns  them,  very  largely,  from  others  through 
the  process  of  education.  And  he  receives  them  fully  con- 
structed, with  all  their  parts  and  properties  determined. 
For  him  to  alter  them  to  suit  his  caprices  is  possible;  but 
that  would  only  be  to  construct  new  ideas  meaning  other 
objects;  there  would  still  be  the  original  ideas  for  him  to 
know  and  use.  For  example,  a  meaning  like  triangle  is  not 
the  personal  property  of  any  one  mind.  When  I  apprehend 
a  triangle  it  comes  to  me  possessed  of  properties  as  rigidly  its 
own,  as  imdocile  to  my  will,  as  a  stone  or  a  star.  I  accept  it 
as  just  itself,  much  as  I  accept  a  physical  thing.  The  mathe- 
matician is  in  the  same  position  of  learner  of  its  properties  as 
the  metallurgist  is  towards  those  of  crystals.  Or  consider 
a  law  like  that  of  falling  bodies;  when  I  learn  it  I  do  not 
invent  it;  I  observe  it;  I  find  out  its  properties  and  try  to 
view  them  in  their  application.  Or  consider  practical  con- 
cepts, such  as  hberty  or  socialism,  which  have  been  formed 


192  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

by  so  long  a  process  that  when  the  individual  reads  of  them 
or  has  them  explained  to  him,  he  receives  them  as  given 
things,  not  as  products  or  inventions.  The  same  attitude 
holds  towards  concepts  which  are  applied  to  individual 
things,  towards  singular  propositions  or  truths.  When,  for 
example,  I  study  history  I  apprehend  a  description  of  the 
past  which  I  do  not  invent,  but  accept  and  recognize  as 
having  validity  quite  independent  of  my  wish  or  will. 

At  various  points  in  our  discussions  we  have  come  upon 
these  conceptual  or  ideal  objects :  in  our  chapter  on  percep- 
tion, the  types  through  which  we  interpret  the  sense  world; 
in  our  discussion  of  causality,  laws;  in  our  discussion  of 
time,  the  complex  of  propositions  which  make  up  history. 
These  ideal  objects  make  up  a  large  and  important  part  of 
our  experience,  and  to  any  one  engaged  in  the  pursuit  of 
science,  or  in  the  carrying  out  of  a  plan  or  a  cause,  they  are 
as  real  as  the  sun  or  moon.  But  obviously  they  are  not  real 
in  the  same  fashion  that  sun  and  moon  are  real. 

And  yet,  in  recent  times,  by  Russell  and  Moore  and  their 
school,  the  old  platonic  theory  of  the  reality  of  universals 
has  been  revived.  It  is  the  theory  that  these  ideal  objects 
possess  reality  independent  at  once  of  minds  and  of  nature. 
"There  is  nothing,"  says  Plato,  ". . .  so  patent  as  that  good- 
ness, beauty  and  other  notions  .  .  .  have  a  most  real  and 
absolute  existence."    (Phaedo,  77.) 

If  this  theory  were  true  it  would  involve  so  large  and 
extensive  a  change  in  our  view  of  the  world  that  we  cannot 
pass  it  by  without  weighing  its  merits  carefully.  The  theory 
is  based,  primarily  I  think,  on  an  uncritical  acceptance  of 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERS.\LS        1 93 

the  realistic  attitude  towards  concepts,  which,  because  con- 
cepts are  of  social  origin,  is  so  natural,  as  we  have  seen. 
But  the  theory  does  not  rest  on  this  basis  alone.  It  is  sup- 
ported by  a  line  of  reasoning  of  a  negative  sort :  the  impos- 
sibility of  reducing  ideal  objects  to  psychological  or  physical 
facts.  The  argument  against  the  mental  character  of  uni- 
versals  has  been  put  simply  and  clearly  by  Russell,  as 
follows:  "  We  can  think  of  a  universal  and  our  thinking 
then  exists  in  a  perfectly  ordinary  sense,  like  any  other 
mental  act.  Suppose,  for  example,  we  are  thinking  of  white- 
ness. Then  in  one  sense  it  may  be  said  that  whiteness  is  in 
our  mind  ...  In  the  strict  sense  it  is  not  whiteness  that  is  in 
our  mind,  but  the  act  of  thinking  whiteness  ...  In  one  sense 
of  the  word,  namely  the  sense  in  which  it  denotes  the  object 
of  an  act  of  thought,  whiteness  is  an  *  idea.'  Hence  if  the 
ambiguity  is  not  guarded  against  we  may  come  to  think  that 
whiteness  is  an  idea  in  the  other  sense,  i.  e.,  an  act  of 
thought;  and  thus  we  come  to  think  that  whiteness  is 
mental.  But  in  so  thinking  we  rob  it  of  its  essential  quality 
of  universality.  One  man's  act  of  thought  is  necessarily  a 
different  thing  from  another  man's;  one  man's  act  of 
thought  at  one  time  is  necessarily  a  different  thing  from 
another  man's  act  of  thought  at  another  time.  Hence  if 
whiteness  were  the  thought  as  opposed  to  its  object,  no  two 
different  men  could  think  of  it,  and  no  one  man  could  think 
of  it  twice.  That  which  many  different  thoughts  of  white- 
ness have  in  common  is  their  object,  and  this  object  is  dif- 
ferent from  all  of  them.  Thus  universals  are  not  thoughts, 
though  when  known  they  are  objects  of  thoughts."     {The 


194  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

Problems  of  Philosophy,  pages  154,  155.)  The  plurality  and 
temporal  character  of  mental  acts  seems  to  be  inconsistent 
with  the  unity  and  independence  of  time  of  universals. 

This  argument  is  from  one  point  of  view  cogent  enough, 
but  it  does  not  prove  what  Russell  supposes.  It  shows  — 
and  the  same  thing  could  be  done  in  many  other  ways  — 
that  a  universal,  as  the  object  of  a  meaning,  is  not  a  mental 
act;  that  when,  for  example,  I  think  of  whiteness  I  do  not 
think  of  any  one's  thought  of  whiteness,  any  more  than  I 
think  of  the  concrete  quale  of  a  flag  or  of  snow.  I  certainly 
do  not  think  of  my  own  thought,  or  of  any  one  else's,  or  of 
the  totality  of  thoughts  of  this  kind.  What  I  think  of  —  the 
intent  of  my  thought  —  is  one,  not  many;  a  universal, 
not  a  particular.  Husserl,  in  his  Logische  Untersuchungen, 
has  shown,  beyond  any  possibiHty  of  doubt,  the  unique- 
ness of  the  universal.  Yet  this  does  not  prove  that  uni- 
versals exist  independent  of  the  mind.  It  proves  only  that 
the  mind  is  capable  of  thinking  of  things  which  are  no  part 
of  the  mind  or  of  the  physical  world.  And  universals  are 
not  the  only  cases  of  this.  Fairy  lore  contains  a  whole  world 
of  individuals  which  are  certainly  not  real.  They  are,  of 
course,  real  as  somebody's  thoughts ;  but  not  real  as  men  are 
real,  on  their  own  account,  independent  of  other  people's 
thoughts.  The  most  convincing  example  of  the  power  of  the 
mind  to  think  objects' which  are  non-existent  is  memory. 
Now  memory  is,  eo  ipso,  knowledge  of  the  non-existent. 
When  I  remember  I  certainly  do  not  remember  my  memory 
—  just  as  when  I  think  of  a  universal  I  do  not  think  of  the 
particular  mental  act  through  which  it  is  apprehended.   But 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNI\TERS.\LS        1 95 

surely  the  object  of  my  thought  is  non-existent.  All  of 
Russell's  arguments  seem  to  me  to  involve  this  confusion  of 
mistaking  a  proof  that  the  object  of  thought  is  not  a  thought 
for  a  proof  that  its  object  exists.  When  I  think  of  my  grand- 
father my  thought  and  its  object  are  certainly  not  one ;  yet 
surely  this  cannot  be  taken  for  an  argument  for  the  existence 
of  my  grandfather.  If  so,  just  to  think  of  it,  would  suffice  to 
make  anything  exist. 

Yet  such  arguments  are  entirely  negative  in  their  scope; 
they  show  that  no  sufficient  evidence  has  been  adduced  to 
prove  the  existence  of  universals;  they  do  not  prove  that 
universals  do  not  exist.  The  usual  method  of  doing  this  is  to 
start  from  some  dogmatic  idea  of  what  existence  involves  — 
to  exist  is  to  be  concrete,  to  be  perceived,  to  be  a  self,  and  so 
on.  But  whatever  basis  these  assertions  may  have,  they  do 
not  seem  to  me  to  be  likely  to  weigh,  without  more  argument 
than  is  usually  adduced  in  their  favor,  with  any  one  who 
thinks  he  has  an  equally  luminous  intuition  of  the  existence 
of  universals.  The  only  way  to  prove  that  universals  do  not 
exist  independently  is  to  show  that  they  are  created  by  the 
mind  —  to  exhibit  the  process  of  their  formation.  We  must 
be  able  to  show  that  they  are  of  the  same  t>pe  as  fictions,  with 
as  much  and  no  more  reality.  And  precisely  this  I  claim  can 
be  done.  For  I  have  shown  that,  although  general  ideas  are 
made  of  other  ideas  which  mean  real  things,  and  grow  up  only 
through  the  existence  and  co-operation  of  real  things,  they 
themselves  are  constructed  by  an  internal  process  of  indi- 
vidual and  social  invention,  without  the  co-operation  of  an 
object.  If  it  could  be  showTi  that  for  the  making  of  universal 


196  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

ideas  some  causal  co-operation  of  their  objects  was  necessary, 
then  it  could  be  proved  that  the  latter  exist;  but  since  this 
cannot  be  done,  and  another  method  of  their  formation  has 
been  exhibited,  the  assumption  of  existence  is  gratuitous. 

There  is,  however,  another  argument  for  the  existence  of 
universals,  drawn  from  their  validity  or  truth.  Because  of 
their  truth,  universals  may  seem  to  have  an  objectivity 
which  entitles  them  to  correspondence  with  reality.  But 
it  can  be  shown,  I  think,  that  the  truth  of  universals,  like 
universals  themselves,  is  derivative. 

For  truth,  like  its  opposite,  falsity,  is  primarily  a  quality 
of  ideas  in  their  application  to  objects  —  a  quality  of  judg- 
ments. The  object  of  an  idea  is  not  true,  but  only  the  idea  in 
relation  to  its  object.  This,  I  repeat,  is  the  primary  meaning 
of  truth;  but  upon  it  as  a  basis  is  built  another  meaning. 
The  true  judgments  of  various  people  form  a  class,  and  so 
offer  the  material  for  the  construction  of  a  universal,  which 
may  now  be  called  "the  truth"  corresponding.  But  the 
truth  of  this  truth,  if  one  may  so  express  it,  is  dependent 
upon  the  truth  of  the  judgments  of  which  it  is  the  corre- 
sponding universal.  The  idea  of  such  a  truth  is  constructed 
post  factum,  after  the  existence  of  particular  true  judgments, 
and  gets  its  quality  as  truth  from  them.  This,  however,  is 
not  recognized  by  the  Platonists,  who  think  that  a  true 
judgment  is  an  apprehension  of  a  truth,  thus  putting  the 
matter  exactly  the  other  way  round.  But  an  attentive 
examination  of  the  matter  reveals  that  a  judgment  is  not 
directed  towards  a  truth,  but  towards  a  thing  or  situation. 
Every  judgment  is  the  construction  of  a  description  which 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERS.\LS        1 97 

takes  the  place  of  the  object  in  the  mind,  that  is  to  say,  pre- 
sents it  there  vicariously.  Subsequently,  of  course,  one  may 
reflect  upon  the  situation,  recognize  that  the  judgment  is 
true,  and,  seeing  that  other  people's  judgments  are  also 
true,  form  the  idea  of  an  object  which  shall  correspond  to  all 
these  judgments,  in  other  words,  think  the  universal  corre- 
sponding. Now  in  the  social  process  of  exchange  of  ideas  and 
research,  for  the  purpose  of  giving  unity  of  direction  to  the 
thoughts  of  many  minds,  only  more  instinctively  than  I 
have  described  it,  this  is  exactly  what  is  done.  But,  how- 
ever useful,  it  is  ob\aously  a  highly  derivative  process, 
resting  upon  the  employment  of  ideas  in  their  directly 
descriptive  function.^ 

But  what  does  constitute  the  truth  of  an  idea  ?  The 
simplest  conception  is  that  of  resemblance,  the  idea  is  true 
of  its  object  if  it  can  mirror  it  in  the  mind,  and  so  become  a 
substitute  for  it.  In  recent  times,  however,  this  conception 
has  been  subject  to  attack  from  many  quarters.  Royce,  for 
example,  declares  that  mere  resemblance  does  not  suffice  to 
make  one  of  two  things  a  knowing  of  the  other  {The  World 
and  the  Individual,  Vol.  I,  Chapter  7).  Two  things,  two 
copies  of  the  same  book,  for  example,  may  be  very  closely 
alike,  even  indistinguishable  to  ordinary  perception,  yet  the 
one  does  not  for  that  reason  know  the  other.  But  this  criti- 
cism overlooks,  I  think,  the  unique  character  of  ideas. 
Under  no  circumstances,  of  course,  can  a  mere  thing  know 

^  This  account  of  truth  as  a  universal  contains,  of  course,  a  criticism, 
by  implication,  of  the  theory  of  truth  as  a  quality  of  independently  exist- 
ing propositions,  once  advocated  by  Russell  and  his  school,  and  ably  dis- 
cussed by  Joachim  in  The  Nature  of  Truth. 


198  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

anything;  only  ideas  can  know.  Again,  it  is  asked  how  the 
truth  of  ideas  can  depend  upon  resemblance  when,  often- 
times, their  objects  do  not  exist  for  comparison  with  them, 
as  is  the  case  when  the  objects  are  destroyed,  or  for  some 
other  reason  cannot  be  recovered.  And  it  is  indeed  true  that 
when,  for  example,  I  have  an  idea  of  my  childhood  there  are 
not  two  things  in  mind  —  the  idea  and  my  childhood ;  there 
is  only  one,  the  idea.    There  is  not  even  a  separate  self  or 
activity  which  employs  the  idea  as  a  representative;    the 
activity  is  immanent  in  the  idea  itself;  the  idea  is  the  I  who 
know.    As  Spinoza  says,  "Ideas  are  not  lifeless  like  pictures 
on  a  panel. ' '  Nevertheless ,  when  we  reflect,  we  become  aware 
that  if  the  idea  is  true,  it  would  resemble  its  object,  could 
we  only  confront  the  two,  and  the  actual  process  of  verifica- 
tion, when  the  objects  of  ideas  exist,  consists  in  confronting 
them  with  their  objects  and  comparing  them.  Whenever,  for 
example,  we  identify  sense  objects  we  establish  a  resemblance 
between  them  and  our  descriptive  ideas.     We  cannot,  of 
course,  identify  the  past,  but,  by  making  use  of  memories, 
documents  and  monuments,  we  can   construct  a  mental 
image  of  it.  We  demand  of  our  ideas  —  or  better,  our  ideas 
demand  of  themselves  —  not  only  that  they  bring  their  ob- 
jects vicariously  into  our  presence;   but,  in  addition,  that 
they  provide  us  with  a  revelation  or  intuition  of  them, 
which  they  can  do  only  so  far  as  they  would  resemble  them, 
if  confronted  with  them. 

Another  point  which  Royce  makes  against  the  notion  of 
resemblance  as  an  element  in  the  truth  of  ideas  is  its  ab- 
stractness.    An  idea,   Uke  every  other  thing,  necessarily 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNI  VERS  ALS        1 99 

resembles  many  similar  objects;  how  then,  on  the  basis  of 
resemblance,  can  I  claim  it  to  be  true  of  some  determinate 
one  of  them  ?  How  can  I  claim  that  it  has  a  unique  object 
at  all  ?  Now  this  might  be  a  valid  objection  to  a  monadistic 
theory  of  knowledge  and  reality,  according  to  which  ideas 
grow  up  by  an  inner  and  spontaneous  process  in  a  mind  cut 
off  from  the  world  which  it  is  seeking  to  know,  but  it  can 
carry  no  weight  against  our  view.  For,  as  I  have  explained, 
ideas  are  born  out  of  a  contact  of  the  mind  with  things. 
Knowledge  is  born  and  made,  as  other  products  are,  out  of 
the  stress  and  strain  of  the  world  process.  The  unique  object 
which  the  idea  means  is  the  unique  thing  which  has  con- 
spired in  its  genesis,  and  back  to  which  we  can  trace  its 
history. 

A  final  objection  to  the  image  doctrine  of  truth  is  based  on 
the  fact  that  a  large  part  of  our  knowledge  consists  of  con- 
cepts which  appear  not  to  be  images  in  any  sense.  In  what 
sense  for  example,  it  might  be  asked,  is  the  truth  that  the 
earth  is  so  many  millions  of  miles  distant  from  the  sun  an 
image  of  anything  ?  Or  the  truth  that  the  earth  has  a  weight 
of  so  many  million  tons  ?  For  a  great  many  people,  concepts 
have  little  or  no  image  value  at  all;  yet  they  make  up  the 
substance  of  their  knowledge. 

Now  it  must  be  admitted,  of  course,  that  concepts  do  not 
always  provide  people  with  visual  images  of  objects.  But 
this  is  no  proof  of  their  totally  non-imitative  character. 
Things  are  given  to  us  not  only  visible,  but  sounding  and 
odorous  and  kinaesthetic  as  well;  hence  an  image  in  terms 
of  any  one  of  these  sense  qualities  is  as  genuine  as  a  visual 


200  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

image.  Moreover,  concepts  are  largely  symbolic  and  abbre- 
viative.  The  distance  from  here  to  the  sun  is  such  a  concept; 
but  its  meaning  consists  of  the  concrete  images  of  measuring 
of  which  it  is  the  equivalent.  Apart  from  the  experience  and 
memory  of  using  a  foot  rule  and  superimposing  it  upon 
some  visible  or  tangible  length,  apart  from  some  experience 
of  counting,  no  one  could  in  any  sense  understand  this  dis- 
tance. Many  concepts,  to  be  sure,  are  not  images  of  existing 
things  but,  as  seems  to  be  the  case  with  chemical  formulae, 
of  actions  to  be  performed,  such  as  weighing,  measuring  and 
heating,  and  the  expected  sensations  resulting.  They  are 
images  of  future,  rather  than  of  present  objects.  The  use  of 
symbolic  concepts  has  been  forced  upon  us  because  we  have 
not  a  sufficient  range  of  imagination  to  encompass  the  com- 
plexity of  the  world  of  the  object,  and  for  the  sake  of  mental 
economy.  Yet,  I  reiterate,  apart  from  possible  images  and 
experim.ental  tests,  such  concepts  have  absolutely  no  mean- 
ing at  all.  Their  truth  depends  upon  the  process  of  verifica- 
tion; and  this  is  always,  in  terms  of  things  and  processes 
within  experience,  capable  of  being  imaged. 

Because  of  the  highly  symbolic  and  non-pictorial  char- 
acter of  many  of  our  concepts,  James  was  led  to  interpret 
truth  as  the  capacity  of  an  idea  to  lead  back  to  the  object 
which  it  means.  Now  this  capacity  of  return  is  indeed  a  fact 
about  certain  of  our  ideas.  All  ideas  capable  of  identification 
through  confrontation  with  their  objects,  such  as  ideas  of 
things  in  the  sense  world,  are  of  this  order.  Ideas  of  past 
objects  and  ideas  of  our  fellow  men,  v/hich  are  not  capable  of 
this  leading,  can  nevertheless  be  brought  into  contact  with 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERSALS        201 

what  James  calls  their  "  next  effects."  We  can  bring  our 
ideas  of  our  fellow  men  into  contact  with  the  deeds  and  ex- 
pressions of  their  bodies;  we  can  confront  our  ideas  of  past 
events  or  objects  with  their  records  or  remains.  We  can  thus 
trace  ideas  along  the  paths  leading  to  their  sources.  Yet 
that  the  return  of  the  idea  to  its  source  cannot  take  the 
place  of  representation  becomes  clear  when  we  ask  ourselves 
how  we  recognize  the  object  to  which  we  return.  If  we  had 
no  image,  no  marks  of  recognition  in  our  minds,  how  could 
we  greet  it  as  the  thing  which  we  meant  when  we  find  it  ? 
All  verification  presupposes  some  element  of  representation. 
The  idea  must  have  first  imaged  the  thing  in  order  for  the 
process  of  identification  to  find  it  to  be  true. 

A  final  proposed  substitute  for  representation  is  consist- 
ency. But  consistency  is  only  a  formal  character  of  judg- 
ments in  relation  to  one  another,  and  does  not  determine  the 
truth  of  any  one  of  them.  Every  new  judgment  must  be 
brought  into  harmony  with  the  system  of  old,  well-estab- 
lished judgments,  but  the  ultimate  truth  of  the  system  itself 
rests  upon  its  correspondence  with  the  facts.  We  cannot 
accept  contradictory  reports  of  eye  witnesses;  but  neither 
can  we  believe  a  story  merely  because  it  is  consistent;  we 
require  a  further  criterion  still  —  that  the  story  shall  mirror 
the  events,  and  so  be  capable  of  verification  in  them  or  in 
"  their  next  effects." 

Royce's  own  theory  of  truth  depends  upon  the  assimila- 
tion of  meaning  to  will.  The  meaning  of  an  idea,  we  are 
told,  is  the  will  of  the  idea.  I  am  far  from  objecting  to  this 
definition  provided  only  that  the  truth  which  it  expresses  be 


202  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

clearly  understood.  The  old-fashioned  notion  of  the  genesis 
of  the  idea,  which  recent  theory  has  done  so  much  to  dissi- 
pate, supposed  it  to  be  produced  in  the  mind  by  a  purely 
mechanical  process  of  registering.  But  just  as  every  contact 
with  an  object  not  only  brings  it  into  the  circle  of  the  mind 
but,  in  addition,  involves  a  reaction  of  feeling  and  will,  so 
every  idea  when  maintained  there  becomes  the  center  of 
some  affective  process.  Originally,  sun  and  moon,  star  and 
earth  were  objects  of  passionate  interest,  and  even  the 
dulling  process  of  familiarization  does  not  succeed  in  cooling 
all  the  warmth  of  things.  And  this  is  true,  to  an  even  higher 
degree,  of  ideas.  Ideas  have  a  passionate  birth,  and  some 
longing  or  fear  keeps  them  alive  in  the  mind.  They  have, 
moreover,  a  practical  function  of  guidance  or  avoidance 
indefeasible.  Yet  in  asserting  all  this  we  do  not  thereby 
deny  the  uniqueness  of  the  representative  function.  No 
feeling  apart  from  idea  affords  any  knowledge  of  its  object. 
What  the  idea  wants  to  do  is  above  all  to  represent,  to  image. 
This  desire  of  the  idea  is  reinforced  by  the  vicarious  presence 
of  a  dehghtful  object;  but  even  an  aversion  to  its  object  can- 
not utterly  quench  it.  Consider,  for  example,  how  we  take 
bad  news.  We  struggle  against  it  with  all  our  might  —  it 
cannot  be  true,  we  passionately  cry.  And  yet  —  there  is  the 
idea;  it  persists;  it  maintains  itself;  it  wills  to  remain.  And 
this  means  that  ideas  have  a  will  of  their  own  and  that  in 
proportion  to  the  liberality  of  our  minds  we  accept  this  will 
as  supreme  in  its  own  domain.  We  have  no  will  of  which  the 
will  of  the  idea  is  not  an  integral  part;  hence  we  cannot 
stand  outside  and  coerce  it.    I  do  not  deny  the  influence  of 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERSALS        203 

desire  upon  belief;  but  I  do  assert  that  this  occurs  only 
through  interference  with  belief's  natural  course.  The 
proper  will  of  the  idea  is  to  be  an  image,  whether  the  image  is 
acceptable  or  not;  and  its  fulfillment  may  involve  the  dis- 
appointment of  every  other  desire. 

It  is  easy  to  understand  the  confusion  of  meaning  and  will. 
Every  developed  desire  is  connected  with  a  meaning  which 
represents  its  object,  and  leads  to  an  action  tending  to  the 
filling  out  of  the  idea  in  an  experience  which  brings  us  back 
to  the  object  which  gave  us  pleasure.  Well,  similarly,  every 
idea  wills  return  to  the  object  which  it  represents,  longs  for 
a  renewal  of  contact  with  the  thing  out  of  which  it  was  bom, 
and  through  which  it  can  keep  its  assurance.  Every  idea 
tends  toward  verification;  it  cannot  rest  until  it  has  been 
tracked  back  to  the  reality  from  which  it  sprang.  Thus  the 
going  forward  of  desire  to  satisfaction  and  the  going  back  of 
the  will  of  the  idea  to  assurance  are  similar  processes,  and 
become  coincident  whenever  desire  is  for  contact  with  an 
object  of  which  we  have  the  idea.  The  satisfaction  of  the  will 
of  the  idea  in  verification  is  simultaneous  with  the  satisfac- 
tion of  the  special  interest  which  we  have  in  the  object.  And 
so  the  confusion  of  the  will  of  the  idea  with  the  w411  in  general 
can  be  easily  understood. 

A  similar  misunderstanding  besets  the  theory  of  judg- 
ment as  the  acceptance  or  rejection  of  ideas;  these  acts 
being  interpreted  as  functions  of  the  will.^  For,  in  the  first 
place,  there  is  often  no  such  activity  alongside  of  ideas;  the 
mere  presence  of  the  idea  in  the  mind  constitutes  behef ;  the 

1  Compare  Rickert:  Der  Gegendand  der  Erkenntnis. 


204  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

idea  does  not  have  to  be  independently  accepted ;  it  carries 
its  own  welcome  with  it.  Unless  we  are  roused  to  doubt, 
belief  comes  of  itself  unsought.  In  reading  history,  or  in 
receiving  news  or  gossip  from  his  friends,  the  average  person 
believes  whatever  ideas  are  given  to  him,  because  they  are 
given  to  him.  Only  when  some  active  curiosity  exists,  some 
burning  desire  for  the  truth,  is  an  idea  which  fits  into  the 
system  of  constituted  beliefs,  and  so  advances  the  truth, 
welcomed  as  a  boon ;  or  if  it  fails  to  fit,  rejected  as  something 
undesirable.  To  be  sure,  since  the  course  of  ideas  is  some- 
what under  the  control  of  special  interests,  it  is  possible  to 
influence  belief  by  excluding  unwelcome  ideas;  yet  there  are 
limits  to  this.  The  verified  idea  cannot  be  disbelieved.  No 
one  can  see  the  sun  at  midday  and  doubt  that  light  sensa- 
tions exist;  no  one  can  doubt  the  existence  of  his  friends. 
Such  instances  may  seem  to  be  unfair  on  the  ground  that 
they  are  extreme;  but  the  ultimate  grounds  of  all  belief  are 
simple  and  irresistible.  And,  of  course,  the  less  the  special 
desires  control  our  ideas  and  the  more  the  will  of  ideas  has 
its  own  way,  the  truer  they  will  be.  The  love  of  truth  is  the 
only  honorable  will  to  beheve.  And  this  consists  in  letting 
the  process  of  verification  and  belief  follow  its  own  laws,  free 
of  the  behests  of  desire.  Every  behef  may  bring  an  addi- 
tional welcome  when  it  announces  the  satisfaction  of  a 
love;  but  belief  leads,  welcome  follows.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  satisfaction  of  the  interest  in  truth  may  be  accom- 
panied by  the  disappointment  of  all  other  desires. 

There  remains  for  consideration  in  this  chapter  one  final 
topic  —  the  value  of  knowledge.    We  may  put  the  problem 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERS.\LS        205 

thus  —  what  is  the  value  of  an  idea  when  what  we  want  is 
reahty  ?  Life  —  the  direct  contact  of  the  self  with  things, 
the  play  of  the  activities  with  the  world,  this  is  what  we 
want.  In  comparison  with  this,  the  possession  of  ideas  seems 
a  feeble  affair,  a  mere  makeshift.  Who  cares  aught  for  the 
idea  of  a  rose  who  has  roses  in  his  garden,  or  for  the  idea  of 
love  who  has  a  sweetheart  ?  And  this  criticism  is  not  one 
which  is  passed  externally  upon  knowledge,  as  by  an  out- 
sider; it  is  a  judgment  which  the  idea  passes  upon  itself. 
For  the  idea  first  comes  to  be  in  the  absence  of  its  object  and 
longs  for  return  to  the  thing  whose  image  it  is.  Its  very  birth 
is  an  indication  of  its  poverty,  and  its  own  will  is  a  confession 
of  shame  of  this.  For  not  only  do  I  want  direct  experience  of 
whatever  I  have  an  idea  of,  because  in  the  idea  I  get  a  hint  of 
possible  dehghts  —  as  when  hearing  tell  of  sunny  southern 
climes  I  desire  to  live  there  and  be  permanently  warm  — 
but  the  idea  itself  longs  for  contact  with  its  object,  in  order 
to  get  assurance  of  itself.  Every  idea  is  much  like  the 
jealous  lover,  who  is  not  content  with  his  belief  in  his 
lady's  love  won  from  outward  signs,  but  would  fain  bring 
it  face  to  face  with  her  very  soul.  Does  not  the  idea  long  for 
possession  of  its  object  in  perfect  knowledge,  just  as  body 
longs  for  possession  of  body  in  embrace  ?  What  philosopher 
has  not  sighed  for  complete  assurance  of  the  truth  through  a 
union  of  his  idea  with  the  world  ?  To  make  assurance 
doubly  sure  through  confrontation  of  idea  with  fact  is  the 
wish  of  every  idea. 

The  foregoing  paragraph  gives  expression  to  what  we  may 
well  call  the  romanticism  of  the  idea,  the  youth  of  the  intel- 


206  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

lectual  life.  In  youth  we  discover  what  we  want  independent 
of  the  conditions  of  the  real;  when  mature  we  discover  what 
the  world  allows  us  to  possess ;  and  then  longing  for  the  ideal 
—  for  the  impossible  —  gives  place  to  contentment  with  the 
actual.  And  so  we  reach  the  stage  of  the  realism  of  the  idea. 
For  since  the  vicarious  presence  of  the  real  through  idea  is, 
for  the  most  part,  all  that  we  can  have,  if  we  contemn  it,  we 
are  left  with  almost  nothing.  For  of  nature  we  can  come  into 
contact  with  only  so  much  as  is  in  touch  with  the  body;  to 
be  present  to  the  whole  would  involve  the  spreading  out  of 
the  body  to  the  dimensions  of  infinite  space.  The  hmit  of 
sensation  is  the  limit  of  the  body;  beyond  this  we  can  go 
only  through  idea.  But  even  if  we  could  get  into  touch  with 
the  whole,  we  could  not  keep  in  touch ;  for  in  so  far  as  all 
things  change,  they  slip  away  from  our  grasp;  the  past,  at 
any  rate,  we  can  possess  only  in  idea.  Finally,  just  as  the 
spatial  difference  between  the  body  and  other  things  makes 
them  inaccessible  to  us  —  except  in  idea;  so  the  separation 
of  our  bodies  determines  a  separation  of  our  souls  —  except 
in  idea. 

Now,  therefore,  we  perceive  our  need  of  ideas,  our  incapac- 
ity to  dispense  with  them.  And  perceiving  this,  we  win  a 
new  contentment  with  them.  We  renounce  our  mystical, 
romantic  longings  and  are  grateful  for  what  we  have.  For 
this  is  what  the  idea  does  for  us.  First,  it  gives  us  a  vicarious 
contact  with  that  part  of  reality  into  touch  with  which  we 
cannot  get;  and  second,  it  affords  us  a  means  of  keeping  the 
actual  as  it  slips  away  from  us,  preserving  it  in  the  only  form 
in  which  we  can  keep  it  —  as  a  vision,  a  memory.   And  with 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERSALS        207 

the  vicarious  presence  of  the  object  the  idea  brings  all  those 
values  which  the  object  itself  would  bring  into  our  life,  if 
there.  Third,  the  idea  enables  us  to  unite  our  past  with  our 
present.  We  have  not  brought  this  service  of  the  idea  to  the 
front  as  it  deserves.  All  knowledge,  even  that  of  things  with 
which  we  come  in  contact,  involves  a  recognition  or  other 
treatment  of  them  by  means  of  concepts.  Now  the  concept, 
as  we  have  shown,  is  a  precipitate  of  past  experiences,  a 
fusion  of  ideas,  each  one  of  which  was  a  means  for  the  vica- 
rious retention  of  some  past  fact.  When,  therefore,  we  apply 
a  concept  to  a  new  experience  we  bring  it  into  union  with  our 
whole  past;  we  assimilate,  appropriate  it.  Even  if  we  could 
get  into  contact  with  the  pulsing  whole  as  it  is  actual  at  any 
moment,  we  should  not  be  content.  Or,  let  us  suppose  that 
the  entire  universe  is  a  mind;  even  so,  its  life  with  itself,  apart 
from  the  idea,  would  not  be  complete.  For,  without  the  idea, 
there  would  be  no  understanding  of  itself,  no  placing  of  itself 
upon  the  background  of  its  past.  And  finally,  through  the 
idea,  and  only  through  the  idea,  are  we  able  to  envisage  the 
unity  of  things.  Our  contact  with  reality  is  a  piecemeal  con- 
tact. Consider  our  knowledge  of  the  simplest  things,  say  of 
our  own  houses.  We  never  get  an  immediate  experience  of 
the  whole,  of  the  relation  of  every  part  to  every  part.  We 
get  a  perception  of  this  and  that  part,  and  of  the  relation  of 
this  part  to  that  part;  but  our  knowledge  of  the  totahty  is  a 
thought,  the  result  of  a  synthetic  activity  of  the  mind.  And 
what  is  tme  of  such  simple  things  is  a  fortiori  true  of  the 
larger  unities  of  space  and  time,  society  and  the  cosmos.  Our 
knowledge  of  all  these  things  is  an  ideal  construction.   Since 


208  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

these,  therefore,  are  the  abundant  fruits  of  the  idea,  let  no 
man,  in  the  interests  of  what  is  called  intuition,  decry  them. 
For  if  by  intuition  be  meant  anything  accurate,  it  can  mean 
only  the  contact  of  the  self  with  reahty,  which,  limited  as  it 
is  to  the  content  of  the  momentary  mind,  can  produce  no 
one  of  these  fruits. 

Despite  these  services  of  ideas,  certain  things  are  still 
urged  against  them.^  First,  it  is  claimed  that  ideas  dismem- 
ber what  they  know,  isolating  special  features  or  parts  from 
the  rest,  thus  destroying  their  totality.    For  example,  to 
have  the  idea  of  the  head  of  an  animal  is  supposed  to  be 
equivalent  to  thinking  of  the  head  as  existing  separate  from 
the  body.    Even  to  have  an  idea  of  an  individual  at  all  is 
believed  to  be  a  falsification  of  reahty,  implying  that  the 
object  is  taken  out  of  the  whole  of  the  world  and  isolated 
from  its  total  background.   This  is  the  surgical  theory  of  the 
idea.    But  knowledge  is  not  cutting.     For  in  meaning  an  in- 
dividual, or  a  part  or  aspect  of  an  individual,  I  do  not  imply 
that  it  exists  or  could  exist  apart  from  the  whole;  I  simply 
designate  it  in  its  place  in  the  whole.  I  mean  things  as  stand- 
ing in  their  relations,  as  elements  in  wholes.    Every  idea 
contains  the  world  frame  of  its  object  implicit  in  its  meaning, 
and  can  be  developed  so  as  to  include  that.  If  I  mean  leaf,  I 
mean  leaf-as-part-of-plant-which-grows-in-soil-and-is-part- 
of-my- total-world.   Of  course  I  mean  primarily  the  thing  as 
designated  by  name;  but  in  meaning  it  I  do  not  imply  any 
separation  of  it  from  the  environment;  for  the  environment 
is  impHcit  in  my  meaning. 

1  Here  and  in  the  next  paragraph  I  have  reference  chiefly  to  Bergson's 
theory  of  knowledge. 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERSALS        209 

Second,  ideas  are  supposed  to  eternalize,  whereas  reality 
is  a  flux.  Every  idea,  it  is  asserted,  must  have  a  determinate 
object;  but  reality  is  never  fixed ;  it  is  a  fluid  growth.  Hence, 
in  using  ideas,  I  ascribe  to  reahty  a  fixity  which  does  not 
belong  to  it;  and  so  I  falsify  it.  But  this,  I  think,  is  a  theory 
of  ideas  sprung  rather  from  a  wish  to  discredit  them  than 
from  any  genuine  understanding  of  them.  It  is  like  the 
opinion  which  one's  enemy  has  of  one's  self  —  bom  of  antip- 
athy rather  than  of  the  sympathy  which  brings  understand- 
ing. For  plainly  I  do  not  have  to  mean  my  objects  as  static; 
in  so  far  as  I  mean  growing  things,  I  mean  them  as  growing. 
I  can,  of  course,  recover  of  anything  only  the  relatively 
permanent  in  it;  but  I  can  mean  more  than  I  recover,  as 
every  memory-idea  attests.  How,  indeed,  could  I  have  an 
idea  of  change  or  growth  at  all  if  I  could  not  mean  change  or 
growth?  Moreover,  the  idea  itself  is  no  fixed  and  changeless 
thing;  it  too  comes  and  goes,  changes  and  develops  — 
should  not  its  own  changefulness  enable  it  to  represent 
change  ? 

But  a  still  more  fundamental  charge  may  be  urged  against 
ideas.  It  may  be  said  that  they  never  afford  us  certainty 
except  in  the  few  cases  where  we  can  confront  them  with 
their  objects.  Does  not  the  idea  long  for  contact  with  its 
object  in  order  to  win  assurance  of  itself;  hence  failing  this, 
why  should  it  have  any  contentment  with  itself  at  all  ?  Is  it 
not  possible  that,  once  the  romanticism  of  the  intellectual 
life  is  over,  instead  of  the  realism  of  thought,  scepticism  may 
take  its  place  ?  Hence  we  reach  the  pathology  of  thought. 
Just  as  the  disillusionment  of  the  dreams  of  youth  may  lead 


2IO  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

to  distaste  for  life,  even  to  suicide,  instead  of  being  the  pre- 
liminary to  the  construction  of  a  possible  happiness;  so  the 
idea,  awakening  to  its  incapacity  to  encompass  all  reaUty, 
may  begin  to  doubt  its  representative  power. 

The  cure  in  both  cases  can  come  only  from  the  enlight- 
ened reassertion  of  the  original  impulse  to  activity,  its  own 
self-correction.  First,  as  has  been  shown  so  often,  a  univer- 
sal scepticism  on  the  part  of  the  idea  is  self-refuting.  For  the 
opinion  that  all  ideas  are  erroneous  is  itself  an  opinion,  and 
so  cannot  maintain  itself.  And  if  we  limit  the  scope  of  the 
assertion,  affirming  that  all  ideas  except  this  one  are  erro- 
neous, we  are  immediately  confronted  with  the  contrary  of 
this  opinion,  namely  that  all  ideas  are  true,  which,  taken  in 
itself,  is  as  credible  as  the  other.  The  two  opinions  therefore 
cancel  each  other,  and  the  result  is  nil.  But  is  not  the  scepti- 
cal opinion  better  based  than  the  other,  since  we  have  so 
often  found  our  ideas  in  error  ?  Yet  have  we  ever  found  an 
idea  in  error  except  on  the  testimony  of  some  other  idea 
which  we  have  believed  ?  And  the  general  power  of  the  idea 
to  represent  truly  is  well  known  to  us;  for,  in  the  case  of  our 
ideas  of  mental  content  at  least,  we  can  bring  the  idea  face 
to  face  with  the  object  and  see  that  what  was  meant  is  there. 
And  a  reflective  doubt  that  ideas  which  mean  things  beyond 
the  mind  may  be  all  in  error  is  incapable  of  destroying  belief. 
For,  independent  of  this  reflection,  these  ideas  assert  them- 
selves; they  carry  within  themselves  their  own  standards 
and  tests  of  assurance ;  a  gratuitous  scepticism  cannot  reach 
down  and  touch  this  primitive  self-confidence.  We  find  it 
impossible  really  to  doubt  the  existence  of  our  fellow  men  or 


METAPHYSICAL  STATUS  OF  UNIVERSALS        211 

of  a  physical  non-self  in  some  form.  The  pyrrhonic  doubt 
has  only  the  force  of  a  play  supervening  upon  the  serious- 
ness of  the  idea,  and  incapable  of  corrupting  it.  The  desire 
of  the  idea  for  absolute  assurance  is  only  the  wish  to  increase 
that  native  confidence  in  itself  which  the  idea  cannot  fail  to 
possess. 


CHAPTER  IX 

THE   THEORY   OF   RELATIONS 

THROUGHOUT  all  of  our  studies  we  have  come  upon 
the  fact  of  relation.  We  have  found  mind  related  to 
the  body  and  to  nature,  and  all  existences  related  to  one 
another  in  space  and  time  and  causality. 

How  shall  we  interpret  this  omnipresent  fact  of  relation  ? 
What  is  implied  as  to  the  nature  of  things  by  their  being 
related  ?  In  other  chapters  we  studied  some  of  the  more  con- 
crete relations ;  here  we  wish  to  solve  the  problem  in  its  most 
general  form.  We  shall  proceed  in  a  free  fashion,  reverting 
to  the  original  facts;  but,  in  large  measure,  we  shall  follow 
along  paths  already  established;  for  many  results  already 
won  are  secure.  No  apology  is  offered  for  the  abstractness  of 
much  of  the  treatment;  for  scope  is  gained  by  abstractness, 
since  whatever  can  be  proved  of  relations  generally  must 
hold  of  every  concrete  case.  Yet  we  shall  not  neglect  the 
vivid  instance  where  the  universal  truth  is  best  revealed. 

Let  us  start  with  the  view  of  relations  as  mere  properties 
of  individuals  —  the  theory  of  monadism,  of  which  Leibnitz 
still  remains  the  most  persuasive  advocate.  The  world,  it  is 
assumed,  is  a  pluraHty  irreducible;  any  statement  of  rela- 
tion, any  mode  of  unification  of  things,  is  only  a  convenient 
short  method  of  combining  independent  statements  about 
each  thing.    You  can  always  analyze  a  proposition  express- 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  213 

ing  a  relation  between  two  things  into  two  propositions; 
and  such  a  proposition  does  not  express  one  fact,  a  single 
situation,  but  two  facts.  If,  for  example,  I  say  '*  A  loves  5," 
I  mean  that  A  has  certain  emotions  and  purposes  and  that  in 
B  likewise  there  is  a  characteristic  attitude  of  mind.  That 
is  all.  Being  related  is  not  being  bound  by  a  tie,  the  form- 
ing of  one  by  two,  like  the  joining  of  hands  in  a  dance,  but  a 
mere  taking  of  attitude  towards  each  other,  like  the  pre- 
liminary courtesying  of  partners.  All  causal  relations,  for 
example,  are  simply  statements  of  change  in  one  individual 
following  upon,  or  in  response  to,  changes  in  another  individ- 
ual. The  proposition  "  A  causes  B  "  means  that  event  A  in 
the  life  of  individual  X  is  followed  by  event  B  in  the  life  of 
another  individual  F.  Causality  is  not  necessitation,  con- 
straint, a  dragging  of  one  by  another;  it  does  not  involve  the 
contact  of  the  interacting  agents.  It  is  a  free  response,  like  a 
dialogue  between  self-sufl&cient  individuals  aloof. 

As  for  ideal  relations,  such  as  greater  and  less,  like  and 
unlike,  monadism  has  a  similar  interpretation.  The  state- 
ment of  relation  is  a  condensed  statement  about  each  term 
of  the  relation.  If,  for  example,  I  say  that  two  blue  things 
are  alike,  I  mean  that  the  one  is  blue  and  that  the  other  is 
blue.  The  "  and  "  here  has  no  objective  significance;  it  does 
not  unite  the  terms  in  themselves,  but  only  in  my  apprehen- 
sion of  them.  The  relation,  again,  is  a  response,  only  not  a 
response  in  action,  but  in  thought.  If  I  say  that  A  is  greater 
than  B,  I  mean  that  A  possesses  one  extent  and  B  another, 
and  that  the  effect  of  both  upon  me  is  a  certain  reaction  or 
feeling  of  "  greater- than."  Every  ideal  relation,  therefore,  is 


214  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

analyzable  into  an  objective  component,  consisting  of  quali- 
ties of  the  related  terms,  and  a  subjective  component,  con- 
sisting in  the  feeling  of  relatedness,  which  is  the  seeming 
unification. 

Bradley  and  Russell  have  subjected  monadism  to  valuable 
formal  criticism.  Take  Bradley's  critique  first. ^  Monadism, 
we  have  seen,  interprets  relations  as  statements  of  qualities 
supposed  to  inhere  in  ultimately  real  individuals.  Whenever 
I  affirm  a  relation  between  A  and  B,  I  ascribe  a  quality  to  A 
and  a  quality  to  B.  But  consider  either  of  the  terms,  say  A. 
To  some  extent  at  least,  A  is  independent  of  its  relation  to 
B,  and  therefore  must  possess  at  least  one  quality  on  its  own 
account.  Hence  A  possesses  at  least  two  qualities.  Or  if,  as 
I  think  Leibnitz  believed,  ^'s  quahties  are  all  derived  from 
its  responses  to  other  things  (an  untenable  view,  as  we  shall 
try  to  show),  since  there  are  more  than  two  things  in  the 
universe  and  since  each  must  respond  to  the  others,  A  must, 
for  this  reason  also,  possess  several  properties.  Each  individ- 
ual is  therefore  complex.  But  now,  what  of  its  various  quali- 
ties ?  The  problem  of  relations  between  things,  with  which 
we  started,  breaks  out  afresh  between  the  qualities  within 
each  thing.  We  must,  if  consistent,  reduce  our  individuals 
each  to  a  new  plurality.  If,  for  example,  we  assume  that  the 
ultimate  individuals  are  selves,  we  must  conceive  of  them 
as  a  mere  collection  of  sensations  or  other  psychic  atoms. 
Hence  they  cease  to  be  the  real  individuals  which  we  had 
supposed  them  to  be.  The  effort  to  reduce  relations  to  the 
terms  related  results  in  the  destruction  of  the  terms  them- 

^  Appearance  and  Reality,  Chap.  iii. 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  21 5 

selves.    Herbart's  View  is  the  sole  issue  —  there  is  only  the 
multitude  of  the  absolute  simples  —  unity  is  an  illusion. 

Royce  ^  has  proved  the  untenability  of  this,  the  final  con- 
sequence of  monadism.  For,  even  if  unity  is  an  illusion,  the 
illusion  of  unity  is  at  least  real.  And  whose  illusion  is  it  ? 
Is  it  perhaps  mine  ?  If  so,  this  cannot  mean  that  I  am  a 
complex  individual  of  which  the  illusion  is  a  part;  for, 
according  to  monadism,  there  are  no  complex  things.  Hence 
the  illusion  must  be  a  simple  ultimate  element  belonging 
nowhere.  If  any  sort  of  distinction  were  made  between  the 
illusion  and  the  rest  of  the  self,  a  complex  individual  would 
be  admitted  to  exist,  and  with  it  the  old  problem  of  relations. 
No;  the  illusion  must  be  allowed  a  free,  unencumbered 
being.  Yet  let  us  look  at  it  more  narrowly.  Is  the  illusion  a 
bare  and  simple  thing  after  all  ?  The  illusion  is  of  A  related 
to  B,  of  A  united  with  B.  I  can,  therefore,  distinguish  parts 
in  the  idea  itself.  An  idea  of  A  related  to  B  cannot  be  abso- 
lutely simple,  but  must  contain  distinguishable  aspects. 
Hence,  once  more,  I  must  pursue  the  process  of  reduction. 
And,  if  I  do,  how  is  the  illusion  of  A  related  to  B  possible  at 
all  ?  How  can  such  a  meaning  be  distributed  among  the 
atoms  of  an  idea  ? 

Hence,  when  carried  out  ruthlessly,  consequentially, 
monadism  involves  a  denial  of  all  complexity  and  is  unable 
to  account  for  that  which  is  given  as  a  starting  point  —  the 
appearance  of  unity.  In  the  self,  in  our  ideas,  there  is  a 
given  complexity,  a  reality  of  relations  irreducible  to  atomic 
quality.   At  present,  however,  no  one  accepts  monadism  in 

^  The  World  and  the  hidividital,  vol.  i.     Supplementary  Essay. 


2l6  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

its  ultimate  form.  A  new  theory,  pluralistic  idealism,  a  com- 
promise form  of  monadism,  yet  still  dependent  on  Leibnitz, 
has  taken  its  place.  Yet,  before  examining  this,  I  wish  to 
consider  Russell's  argument  against  monadism. 

Russell  ^  argues  that  monadism  is  unable  to  explain  the 
difference  between  a  sjonmetrical  and  an  asymmetrical  rela- 
tion. For  consider  the  asymmetrical  relation  "greater- than." 
If  you  seek  to  analyze  it  into  quality  a  possessed  by  A  and 
quality  h  possessed  by  B,  you  do  not  offer  any  interpretation 
of  the  sense  of  the  relation ;  you  do  not  tell  us  whether  A  is 
greater  than  B  or  whether  B  is  greater  than  A ;  for  all  that 
we  know,  the  relation  might  hold  either  way,  that  is,  might 
be  symmetrical.  Now  I  do  not  think  this  a  cogent  argu- 
ment against  a  thoroughgoing  monadism.  Monadism  must 
suppose  that  size  is  something  absolute,  a  quahty  like  blue  or 
green.  The  relatedness,  including  the  sense  of  the  relation, 
would  be  only  a  reaction  of  the  observer  upon  the  two  quali- 
ties. Asymmetry  would  be  a  subjective  mode  of  feeling,  not 
an  objective  fact,  the  mind  pitched  in  a  certain  way,  dif- 
ferent in  the  case  of  symmetry.  Furthermore,  the  edge  is 
somewhat  taken  off  of  the  argument  by  Royce's  discovery 
that  every  asymmetrical  relation  can  be  reduced  to  a 
symmetrical  one.^ 

The  contemporary  way  out  of  the  difficulties  of  monadism 
is  to  limit  the  application  of  the  principle.  One  type  only  of 
complex  individual  is  admitted,  the  self,  in  which  relations 
are  real;  for  there  unity  is  a  matter  of  direct  experience  and 

1  The  Principles  of  Mathematics,  sec.  214. 

*  "The  Relation  of  the  Principles  of  Logic  to  the  Foundations  of 
Geometry,"  in  Trans.  Am.  Math.  Soc,  July,  1905. 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  21/ 

an  atomic  constitution  is  palpably  false.  Selves  are  the 
atoms.  The  relations  between  selves,  however,  are  to  be 
interpreted  in  strict  monadistic  fashion  as  qualities  of  the 
latter.  Bradley's  dialectic  argument  does  not  apply  because 
the  possibility  of  the  interrelation  of  many  qualities  is 
granted  in  the  case  of  the  self  —  the  dialectic  is  arrested  at 
this  point. 

The  arguments  for  this  position  go  back  to  Leibnitz.  The 
initial  assumption  of  monadism  is  granted;  there  must  be 
real  individuals  to  compose  the  substance  of  the  world  and 
to  afford  a  support  for  relations.  But  genuine  individuals  are 
discoverable  only  in  the  case  of  selves,  which  alone  possess 
an  indiscerptible  unity.  Turn  the  attention  to  any  other 
empirical  thing;  it  is  no  true  individual;  only  arbitrarily, 
by  means  of  your  selective,  interested  attention,  is  it  sepa- 
rated from  environing  things.  Or  regard  the  thing  internally; 
you  can  cut  it  into  halves,  each  of  which  will  servT  you  just 
as  well  for  an  individual;  and  these  halves  may  be  again 
divided,  and  so  on.  Such  a  thing  possesses  no  individuaUty 
which  marks  it  off  as  one  from  other  things,  and  no  internal 
unity  forbidding  division.  Moreover,  empirical  things  are 
only  presentations  of  the  self;  they  have  no  being  of  their 
o\Mi.  But  selves,  in  contrast  to  things,  possess  all  the  attri- 
butes essential  to  individuahty.  At  every  moment  con- 
sciousness is  whole;  its  distinctness  from  other  things  is  not 
a  matter  of  arbitrary  external  interest  and  selection ;  it  is  an 
indivisible  distinguishing;  and  the  unity  also  is  no  arbitrary 
imposition  from  the  outside,  but  a  self-felt  unity.  You  can, 
of  course,  distinguish  elements  in  the  self;  but  you  have  tb 


21 8  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

recognize  that  they  could  not  exist  separate;  that  they  are 
more  or  less  artificially  made;  that  the  whole  alone  is  given. 
Hence  the  self  is  the  only  real  individual;  the  others  are 
constructions  of  the  self  to  serve  its  purposes,  formed  after 
the  analogy  of  the  self. 

After  the  individual  has  been  identified  with  the  self,  the 
interpretation  of  relations  proceeds  much  after  the  fashion  of 
rigorous  monadism.  A  purely  subjectivistic  interpretation 
of  ideal  relations  is  required  by  the  theory.  For  example,  the 
likeness  or  unlikeness  of  two  sense  data  or  of  two  personah- 
ties  must  be  interpreted  as  "  feelings-of-relation  "  in  response 
to  these  facts.  Spatial  or  dynamic  relations  of  things  within 
the  mind  are  to  be  conceived  differently,  however,  for  there 
the  relations  are  of  elements  of  the  self;  hence,  since  the  self 
is  allowed  to  be  a  real  whole,  the  connections  between  its 
elements  must  be  allowed  to  be  as  real  as  the  elements  them- 
selves, as  genuinely  empirical  and  substantial  as  they.  As 
for  causal  and  other  real  relations  between  selves,  they  are 
interpreted  as  responses  in  the  fashion  already  expounded. 

The  first  thing  that  gives  one  pause  when  one  scrutinizes 
this  modified  monadism  is  just  the  fact  that  it  is  based  on  the 
Hmitation  of  a  principle  in  general  accepted.  One  inevitably 
begins  to  inquire  whether  the  limitation  be  not  arbitrarily 
imposed;  one  wonders  whether  a  principle  found  to  be 
faulty  within  the  self  must  not  also  be  inadequate  between 
selves.  One  would  think,  I  should  suppose,  that  a  satisfac- 
tory theory  of  relations  would  hold  everywhere.  At  any 
rate,  it  is  plain  that  modified  monadism  stands  or  falls  with 
the  adequacy  of  its  interpretation  of  the  relations  between 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  219 

selves.    These  we  shall  proceed  to  examine,  after  which  we 
shall  be  led  into  another  theory  of  relations. 

Every  one  will  grant,  I  suppose,  that  there  are  at  least 
three  relations  between  selves:  the  causal,  temporal  and 
noetic.  Let  us  begin  with  inquiring  into  the  pluralistic  treat- 
ment of  the  first.  Suppose  I  speak  and  you  hea'r  or  I  walk 
and  you  see  me  walk ;  then  your  auditory  and  visual  sensa- 
tions are  connected  with  my  voluntary  muscular  sensations. 
Now,  for  monadism,  since  each  of  these  events  is  within  a 
different  mind,  and  since  minds  are  separate  and  there  is 
nothing  real  besides  them,  the  relation  of  causation  can  exist 
only  as  some  fact  in  each  of  the  minds  between  which,  as  we 
say,  it  holds.  Yet  what  can  this  fact  be  ?  For  there  seems 
to  be  nothing  besides  the  events;  there  is  event  A  in  one 
mind  and  event  B  in  another  mind;  that  is  all.  It  is  of 
course  true  that  B  follows  A,  and  follows  regularly.  But 
mere  sequence  is  not  causation,  even  when  sequence  is 
habitual;  there  must  be,  in  addition,  activity,  necessity.  To 
this,  of  course,  the  monadist  has  his  answer  ready:  "  Fact  is 
the  sole  necessity;  or  rather,  necessity  is  the  subjective  side 
of  fact.  The  habitual  sequence  of  A  upon  B  constrains  the 
mind  to  infer  from  the  proposition  '  A  exists '  to  the  prop- 
osition '  B  will  exist  soon  after.'  The  logical  relation  of 
implication  between  the  propositions  which  state  the  facts 
in  question  is  the  causal  tie  between  them;  and  the  con- 
straint felt  by  the  mind  in  passing  from  one  to  the  other  is 
the  necessity  which  you  seek."  But,  as  we  have  shown  in  our 
chapter  on  Causality,  in  order  that  there  may  be  some  basis 
for  confidence  in  such  implications  between  propositions. 


220  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

there  must  be  some  objective  necessity  in  the  facts  which  the 
propositions  report.  A  logical  relation  is  valid  only  because 
of  some  real  relation.  And  the  truth  that  B  has  often 
followed  A  in  the  past  does  not  guarantee  that  it  will  do  so 
in  the  future. 

This,  I  think,  is  the  heart  of  Lotze's  famous  critique  of  in- 
teraction conceived  monadistically.^  It  is  impossible  to  un- 
derstand, once  you  have  conceived  of  individuals  as  monads, 
how  there  can  be  any  influence  of  one  upon  another,  any  real 
tie  between  them.  Ward,^  in  his  answer  to  Lotze,  misses  this 
point  entirely.  If  we  grant,  he  says,  that  individuals  are  "  in 
sympathetic  rapport "  we  obviate  the  difficulty.  But  what  is 
sympathetic  rapport  ?  Is  it  anything  more  than  just  a  re- 
naming of  the  fact  of  habitual  sequence  ?  Does  it  include 
that  constraint,  that  necessitation,  which  makes  of  causation 
something  more  than  mere  habit  ?  If  it  does,  how  can  it 
exist  between  individuals  which  are  in  no  sort  of  substantial 
contact  with  one  another  ?  The  notion  of  causation  is 
derived,  like  all  other  notions,  from  certain  personal  experi- 
ences, of  which  it  is  the  reflection.  Now,  in  our  own  Ufe  we 
find  that  one  thing  grows  out  of,  is  forced  into,  made  out  of 
some  other;  that  there  is  necessity  in  this  process  because  it 
embodies  a  conation;  that  this  growing  and  making  and 
constraining  is  in  and  upon  elements  which  jostle  and  jolt 
and  keep  in  contact  with  one  another.  Such  is  causation  as 
we  know  it  in  our  lives.  Snap  the  contacts  and  the  unifying 
purpose,  and  the  whole  thing  becomes  incomprehensible. 

^  GrundzUge  der  Metaphysik,  1883,  sec.  48. 
2  The  Realm  of  Ends,  Lecture  X. 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  221 

Monadism  involves,  in  effect,  a  denial  of  causality  between 
events  in  different  minds,  for  which  mere  correlation  is 
substituted. 

We  are  thus  brought  to  the  second  type  of  relation,  the 
temporal,  admitted  to  obtain  between  events  in  different 
minds.  How  does  monadism  interpret  this  ?  Of  the  two 
fundamental  temporal  relations,  contemporaneity  and  se- 
quence, it  will  be  sufficient  to  consider  the  latter.  Since  the 
sequent  events  are  each  in  a  different  mind,  there  cannot 
exist  between  them,  of  course,  that  experienced  relation, 
called  by  us  contact-sequence,  which  we  observe  between 
events  in  our  own  minds.  The  monadist  must  conceive  of  it 
according  to  his  own  doctrine  of  relations  as  a  mere  "  feeling 
of  relation  "  invoked  in  the  mind  which  knows  it.  For 
monadism,  there  can  be  no  real  order  in  events  belonging  to 
different  minds;  there  can  be  only  events  with  their  char- 
acteristic quahties;  their  order  is  simply  a  form  which  is 
imposed  upon  them  by  the  apperceiving  mind.  The  proposi- 
tion "^  follows  5,"  when  A  and  B  are  events  belonging  to 
different  minds,  can  mean  nothing  more  than  that  A  has  one 
quality  and  B  another,  and  that  the  knowledge  of  the  two 
together  makes  a  certain  impression  on  the  human  mind  — 
an  ordinal  feeling.  Thus  time  becomes  subjective,  a  mere 
"  tendency  to  feign  "  or  fiction.  Causal  relations  between 
events  in  different  minds  vanish  into  temporal  relations,  and 
these  vanish  altogether.  Only  when  some  real  contact  be- 
tween the  elements  of  the  world  is  admitted  to  exist  can 
there  be  a  real  relation  of  sequence  between  them.  Then, 
through   the  mediation  of  the  intervening  substance,  an 


222  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

event  in  one  mind  and  an  event  in  another  would  be  con- 
nected by  the  same  sort  of  contact-sequence  as  exists 
between  successive  events  in  a  single  mind.  There  would  be 
only  one  sequence  —  between  successive  phases  of  the  one 
universe,  of  which  what  we  call  separate  events  and  minds 
would  be  only  parts. 

Last,  we  have  to  inquire  how  modified  monadism  inter- 
prets the  cognitive  relations  between  minds.  It  is  perhaps 
possible  for  one  to  deny  causal  and  temporal  relations  be- 
tween minds  conceived  of  monadistically.  The  conception 
of  the  universe  as  a  multitude  of  separate  hves,  each  running 
its  own  course  unaffected  by  the  lives  of  others,  while  wholly 
unreal,  is,  perhaps,  not  utterly  unthinkable.  One  might  con- 
ceive of  the  apparent  interactions  between  minds  as  due 
wholly  to  the  chance  conjunction  of  events  resulting  from 
the  internal  development  of  each.  If,  for  example,  you  seem 
to  influence  my  life  by  your  thought  or  example,  the  change 
in  me  may  really  be  due  to  some  spontaneous  growth 
within,  which  just  happens  to  coincide  with  the  expression 
of  your  thought  in  teaching  or  action.  Such  an  accidental 
harmony  of  events  is  at  least  a  stateable  doctrine.  But  it  is 
not  possible  to  deny  cognitive  relations  between  selves.  For, 
even  if  your  life  is  without  any  other  real  influence  on 
mine,  if  I  can  affirm  your  existence,  I  must  have  some 
knowledge  of  you.  How  can  plurahstic  idealism  interpret 
this  knowledge  which  one  self  has  of  another  ? 

Monadism  is,  of  course,  committed  to  a  representative 
theory  of  the  knowledge  of  other  minds.  Since  minds  are 
existentially  separate,   the   knowledge  which   one   has   of 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  223 

another  cannot  imply  that  the  mind  which  knows  possesses 
the  hfe  of  the  other,  but  only  ideas  which  mean  or  represent 
that  life.    Now  whenever  an  idea  knows  an  object  there  is 
some  relation  between  the  two  by  reason  of  which  the  idea 
knows  this  object  rather  than  that;  the  idea  and  the  object 
are  not  on  the  same  level  with  reference  to  each  other  that 
they  are  with  reference  to  the  rest  of  the  universe ;  there  is 
some  distinguishing  communion  between  them.    I  may  in- 
terpret this  relation  variously  as  resemblance  or  causation. 
Suppose  I  interpret  it  as  some  unique  resemblance  between 
the  two,  by  reason  of  which  the  idea  may  take  the  place  of 
the  object  in  my  mind.  How  then  would  monadism  interpret 
this  ?    In  accordance  with  the  scheme  of  interpretation  to 
which  it  is  committed,  the  relation  must  be  reduced  to  quali- 
ties of  the  terms  related.    Suppose,  for  example,  that  the  idea 
is  of  you  laughing,  formed  by  me  through  the  interpretation 
of  sensations  of  my  own  which  I  call  your  body,  and  that  the 
object  which  it  knows  and  resembles  is  you  laughing;  each, 
therefore,  has  the  quality  of  laughter.   Yet  it  seems  impos- 
sible to  interpret  the  resemblance  of  idea  and  object  in  this 
simple  fashion.    We  grant  that  when  two  things  are  alike 
they  have  each  a  certain  quality;   but  they  are  alike  only 
when  they  have  "  like  "  quahties.    The  monadist's  answer 
to  this  objection  is,  of  course,  that  the  element  of  likeness  in 
the  situation  is  just  a  reaction  of  the  mind  which  knows 
them   to   the  terms   together.     But  "together"  —  is  not 
togetherness  itself  a  relation  ?   "  To  be  sure,"  the  monadist 
would  reply,  *'  but  the  togetherness  is  just  the  co-presence 
of  the  two  terms  in  consciousness;  it  is  one  of  those  experien- 


224  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

tial  relations,  which  modified  monadism  is  prepared  to 
admit,  holding  only  when  things  are  in  consciousness.  The 
resemblance  between  idea  and  object  is  the  feeHng  which  I 
have  when  I  get  the  idea  and  the  object  into  the  one  unity  of 
apperception."  But,  according  to  the  representative  theory 
of  knowledge,  I  never  can  get  the  object  in  mind;  I  can 
possess  only  an  idea  of  it.  The  resemblance  between  idea 
and  object  turns  out  to  be  the  resemblance  between  my  idea 
of  the  object  and  my  idea  of  the  idea  reflectively  obtained. 
Hence,  resemblance  cannot  be  asserted  between  idea  and 
object.  If  now  the  monadist  persists,  declaring  that  this  is 
still  possible  because,  since  the  idea  takes  the  place  of  the 
object,  whatever  is  true  of  the  idea  is  true  of  the  object,  and 
therefore  whatever  is  affirmed  of  the  idea  of  the  object  and 
of  the  idea  of  the  idea  is  true  of  the  idea  and  the  object,  we 
call  his  attention  to  the  fact  that,  in  his  reply,  he  is  covertly 
using  the  very  relation  of  representation  which  he  set  out  to 
explain.  He  seeks  to  explain  representation  in  terms  of 
resemblance,  but,  in  order  to  explain  resemblance,  he  is 
driven  back  again  upon  representation. 

There  is  no  way  open  for  him  to  interpret  representation 
in  terms  of  causation;  he  cannot  say  that  an  idea  means  its 
object  when  the  latter  controls  it  in  his  mind;  for  he  has 
already  denied  the  existence  of  causal  relations  outside  of  the 
mind.  The  monadist  can  get  no  further  than  the  pre-estab- 
lished harmony  of  Leibnitz,  which  is  simply  a  renaming  of 
the  facts.  He  points  to  correspondences,  of  which  we  have 
always  been  aware;  he  does  not  give  us  what  we  seek  — 
linkages.  If  now,  as  a  last  resort,  he  declares  that  knowledge 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS        225 

is  just  the  existence  of  an  idea  and  the  existence  of  an  object, 
with  no  relation  at  all  between  them,  failure  is  instanta- 
neous. For,  as  Royce  ^  has  urged,  the  mere  existence  of  two 
things  does  not  make  the  one  a  knowing  of  the  other.  What 
makes  the  idea  an  idea  of  that  one  thing  rather  than  of 
another  thing  ?  Apart  from  some  ideal  relation  like  resem- 
blance or  some  real  relation  like  causation,  knowledge  is 
unthinkable.  Scepticism  or  subjectivism  is  the  logical  out- 
come of  monadism.  Just  as  time  and  causation  become  mere 
forms  of  the  spirit  without  objective  validity,  so  knowledge 
becomes  a  mere  state  of  mind  undetermined  by  and  unre- 
lated to  the  world  which  it  pretends  to  know.  The  possibility 
that  all  our  boasted  knowledge  be  only  a  vagrant  dream  or 
an  insidious  lie  becomes  more  than  a  vain  suggestion. 

The  failure  of  monadism  compels  us  to  seek  elsewhere  for 
a  satisfactory  theory  of  relations.  An  alternative  view, 
apparently  the  simplest  of  all,  is  to  accept  relations  as  ulti- 
mate. This  view  has  today  the  high  authority  of  Russell.^ 
A  pluralism,  not  of  terms,  but  of  terms  and  relations  is  sup- 
posed to  be  ultimate.  The  terms  are  either  simple,  corre- 
sponding to  the  atoms  of  monadism,  or  complex,  capable  of 
being  reduced  to  simple  terms  in  relation.  By  means  of  this 
general  scheme,  things  of  any  order,  even  of  infinite  order  of 
complexity,  can  be  built  up.  The  task  of  science  is  defined 
as  the  discovery  of  the  ultimate  elements  and  relations  in  all 
things  and  situations.  For  example,  space  is  analyzed  into 
simple  elements  called  points  with  relations  of  order  and 

1  The  World  and  the  Individual,  vol.  i,  Lecture  VII. 

2  Op.  cil.,  passim. 


2  26  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

distance  between  them.  These  simplest  elements  with  their 
relations  constitute  wholes  —  extents  of  space  —  which 
may  themselves  stand  in  relation  to  other  things  of  like 
order  of  complexity,  and  so  create  the  final  whole  of 
space.  Or  consider  the  self;  this  is  analyzed  into  elemen- 
tary sensations  bound  by  relations  temporal,  causal,  and 
associative;  and,  through  its  relations  to  other  selves,  it 
may  itself  be  an  element  in  a  whole  of  higher  order  —  a 
society. 

No  discussion  of  this,  as  of  all  other  theories,  would  be 
satisfactory  without  reference  to  Bradley's  ^  critique.  This 
critique  contains  two  main  parts.  The  first  is  as  follows.  If 
you  accept  terms  and  relations  as  ultimate,  you  really  fail  to 
do  what  it  seems  self-evident  that  you  must  do  —  you  fail  to 
bring  your  terms  into  relation.  For,  let  us  consider  any  com- 
plex situation:  A  related  to  B,  symbolized  as  ARB.  Then, 
according  to  the  theory  in  question,  A  is  one  thing,  R  is 
another  and  5  is  a  third,  each  being  just  what  it  is  distinct 
from  the  others.  Yet  surely,  ^  and  B,  and  B  and  R,  must  be 
related:  A  has  the  relation  to  B,  and  B  has  the  converse 
relation  to  A.  There  is  then  a  relation,  a  new  one,  between 
A  and  R,  let  us  call  it  r.  But  if  now  we  consider  A  and  r,  the 
same  situation  confronts  us.  And  plainly  this  process  can 
never  end:  there  must  exist  an  infinity  of  relations  between 
A  and  R.  But,  argues  Bradley,  an  infinity  of  relations  be- 
tween A  and  R  is  equivalent  to  no  relations  at  all;  the  logic 
of  relations  adopted  results  in  the  destruction  of  all  relations; 
it  is  therefore  self-contradictory,  hence,  false, 

'  Op.  cil.,  passim. 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  22/ 

Both  Russell  ^  and  Royce  ^  seek  to  evade  this  difficulty  by 
maintaining  that  the  infinity  of  relations  involved  does  not 
destroy  relation :  R  relates  A  and  B  in  the  first  instance,  and 
the  other  relations  implied  by  the  original  one  do  not 
destroy  its  integrity.  But  the  force  of  Bradley's  argument  is 
not  thus  overcome,  I  beheve.  The  point  that  is  not  met  is 
this :  If  you  take  relations  as  distinct  and  ultimate,  you  get  a 
situation  of  infinite  complexity  for  your  thought,  whereas 
empirically  no  such  thing  exists.  If,  for  example,  A  is  father 
of  B,  no  such  infinitely  complex  situation  can  be  observed; 
in  so  far  as  relations  are  directly  experienced,  they  bind  ele- 
ments quite  simply.  This  is  the  contention  of  James,^ 
although  he  fails  to  perceive  that  it  is  no  objection  to 
Bradley,  but  rather  a  confirmation  of  Bradley's  view.  To 
state  the  argument  in  a  new  form :  even  if  the  infinite  regress 
is  not  inconsistent  with  itself,  it  is  in  contradiction  with  the 
nature  of  reality  as  presented  in  our  experience. 

The  root  of  the  difficulty  lies  in  treating  relation  as  if  it 
were  itself  an  individual.  When  so  treated,  of  course,  it 
must  be  brought  into  relation  again  with  the  original  individ- 
uals related.  The  infinity  of  relations  pointed  out  by  Bradley 
is  the  natural  result.  To  defend  this,  as  Russell  does,  is  to 
persist  in  the  original  error.  The  relation  is  not  one  thing 
and  the  two  terms  two  others.  This  may  seem  to  be  the  case 
only  because  we  use  an  individual  term  to  designate  it.  A 
relation  is  a  mode  of  union;   it  is  not  itself  a  thing  which 

1  Op.  cil.,  sec.  99. 

2  The  World  and  the  Individual,  vol.  i.     Supplementary  Essay. 

'  The  Thing  and  its  Relations,  "  Journ.  of  Philos.,"  etc.,  vol.  iv,  January 
19, 1905. 


228  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

could  be  united  with  another  thing.   When,  as  the  result  of 
some  triumph,  a  man's  self  is  filled  with  pride  and  exulta- 
tion, there  is  surely  a  relation  between  his  thoughts  and  his 
emotion;    they  are  permeated  with  it;    and  we  recognize 
immediately  the  union  which  is  present  and  directly  experi- 
enced.  But  there  is  no  experience  of  a  relation  between  this 
relation  and  its  terms.    What  we  experience  is  the  union  of 
thought  and  emotion,  not  the  union  of  the  union  and  the 
emotion.   Russell  does  not  assume,  I  suppose,  that  there  is  a 
complexity  of  this  kind  in  immediate  experience,  but  only  in 
experience  reflectively  considered.  But  the  point  of  interest 
is  whether  the  account  is  a  description  of  the  actual  situa- 
tion; and  as  such,  as  we  have  seen,  it  is  false.  How  it  seems 
to  arise  in  reflection  we  have  already  indicated.    In  the 
description  of  the  situation  we  use  a  concept  of  relation 
which,  as  concept,  is  an  individual  thing;   we  can  therefore 
inquire  into  its  relation  to  the  concepts  which  indicate  the 
individuals  related.  This  relation  will  then  be  found;  it  will 
be  a  new  one  directly  experienced  on  the  plane  of  thought. 
If  now  we  wish  to  designate  it,  we  have  to  make  use  of 
another  individual  concept;    whence   the  same  situation 
arises  again,  and  so  on  in  infinitum.    But  throughout  we 
have  been  dealing  with  the  concepts  used  in  the  description 
of  the  facts,  not  with  the  facts  themselves. 

Bradley's  ^  well-known  argument  against  relations,  or 
rather  against  the  theory  of  relations  as  self-subsistent 
entities,  is  as  follows:  If  ^,  R,  and  B  are  distinguishable, 
then  A ,  for  example,  must  have  some  nature  independent  of 

1  Loc.  cit.    For  another  discussion  of  this  point,  see  beyond,  on  page  260. 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  229 

the  relation  R  in  which  it  now  happens  to  stand ;  yet  it  can- 
not be  wholly  unaffected  by  this  relation;  for,  if  it  were,  the 
latter  would  be  totally  foreign  to  it.  Hence  A  must  have  one 
part  as  term  in  relation  and  another  part  as  term  in  itself. 
Call  the  former  a  and  the  latter  b.  But,  in  accordance  with 
the  theory  of  relations  under  discussion,  a  and  b  must  them- 
selves be  related,  hence  the  problem  breaks  out  afresh.  Our 
original  term  A  turns  out  to  be  infinitely  complex;  its 
relation  destroys  its  simplicity;  there  are  no  simple  terms. 

At  present  the  favorite  way  of  avoiding  this  difl&culty  is  to 
deny  that  a  term  is  affected  by  its  relations  —  relations  are 
"  external."  This  is  quite  in  line  with  the  theory  of  relations 
as  ultimate.  A  term  is  just  itself,  whether  unrelated  or  in 
relation ;  the  acquirement  of  a  new  relation  or  the  loss  of  an 
old  one  does  not  affect  its  nature  at  all.  The  inadequacy  of 
this  answer  consists  in  its  variance  with  the  plain  facts  of 
ordinary  experience.  No  object  with  which  we  are  familiar 
remains  identical  after  the  acquirement  of  a  new  relation; 
the  relation  never  leaves  the  term  unaffected.  No  man  is  the 
same  after  he  has  accepted  a  new  office,  undertaken  new 
duties,  entered  a  new  club,  and  so  on.  For  example,  no  man 
is  the  same  after  marriage  or  parenthood.  The  falsity  of  the 
theory  of  relations  as  external  is  palpable  in  the  case  of  social 
relations.  But  it  is  no  less  striking  in  the  case  of  physical  or 
psychical  relations.  The  weight,  heat-energy,  even  size  and 
shape  of  physical  things  is  absolutely  dependent  on  relation 
to  other  physical  things;  it  is  even  impossible  to  define  these 
qualities  apart  from  relations.^  In  the  realm  of  mind  there  is 

'  See,  for  example,  Stallo :  Concepts  and  Theories  of  Modern  Physics. 


230  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

no  contact  with  a  new  object,  idea  or  emotion  that  does  not 
penetrate  into  the  very  core  of  the  self,  transforming  it,  not 
merely  as  a  whole,  but  in  its  several  parts,  coloring  each. 
Moreover,  it  is  plain  that  relations  and  terms  are  not  indif- 
ferent to  one  another,  from  the  fact  that  all  terms  cannot 
stand  in  all  relations.  A  stone  carmot  hate  a  man,  a  thought 
cannot  be  heavier  than  an  emotion.  Not  only  do  terms 
depend  on  relations,  but  relations  depend  on  terms.  Love, 
for  example,  can  subsist  only  between  animals,  romantic  love 
only  between  members  of  the  genus  homo.  And  finally,  no 
relations  can  subsist  at  all  without  terms. 

In  his  famous  critique  of  Bradley's  theory  of  relations, 
James  ^  objects  to  the  use  of  concrete  relations  and  situations 
in  the  discussion  of  the  internality  or  extemaHty  of  relations. 
Such  a  use,  he  argues,  involves  an  appeal  to  physical,  social 
and  other  such  facts  which  complicate  and  obscure  the 
purely  logical  situations  under  discussion.  For  example,  he 
says  that  it  is  wrong  in  considering  whether  change  of  spatial 
relations  affects  things  to  point  to  the  obvious  thermal  and 
gravitational  alterations  involved.  The  reply  to  this  seems 
to  me  to  consist  in  emphasizing  the  fact  that  there  are  no 
purely  logical  relations.  Logical  relations  are  only  the  most 
abstract  features  of  real  physical,  social  and  psychical  rela- 
tions. The  logical  relation  of  antecedence  and  consequence, 
for  example,  so  fundamental  in  all  order,  does  not  exist  in 
itself;  what  exist  are  such  concrete  relations  as  before  and 
after  in  space  and  time,  greater  and  less  among  quantities, 
precedence  and  subordination  in  rank,  and  the  like.  Yet  it  is 

^  The  Thing  and  its  Relations. 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  23  I 

possible  to  argue  the  theory  of  relations  from  an  abstract 
logical  point  of  view;  yet  not,  I  think,  with  anything  like 
the  same  vividness. 

We  may  sum  the  arguments  against  Russell's  view  as  fol- 
lows: (i)  You  cannot  treat  relations  as  independent  facts, 
because  if  you  do,  you  really  fail  to  relate  individuals;  thus 
interpreted,  relations  fail  to  perform  their  obvious  function. 
(2)  Individuals  are  themselves  not  independent  of  relations. 
In  so  far  as  all  things  are  related,  they  are  at  least  partly 
made  by  relations.  (3)  Relations  arie  not  independent  of 
individuals;  for  particular  relations  can  exist  only  between 
particular  individuals. 

We  turn  now  to  the  last  current  attempt  to  interpret  re- 
lations —  the  monistic.  This  view  is  best  represented  by 
Bradley  and  has  found  its  keenest  critic  in  Russell. 

The  view  is  as  follows:  any  statement  of  relation  between 
individuals  is  to  be  interpreted  as  a  statement  about  a  whole 
which  they  form,  as  the  ascription  of  a  quality  to  them  all 
together.  The  real  subject  of  a  relational  proposition  is  not 
any  one  of  its  terms,  but  the  whole  which  they  constitute, 
and  the  relation  asserted  is  a  predicate  of  that  whole.  When- 
ever we  seem  to  find  individuals  in  relation,  the  real  fact  is 
the  existence  of  one  individual,  of  which  the  former  are  mem- 
bers. A  relation  is  a  quality  of  a  total  situation.  In  so  far, 
then,  as  things  are  related,  they  are  subservient  and  second- 
ary to  the  whole  which  they  form,  and  any  quahty,  which 
they  may  possess  through  being  related,  they  derive  through 
membership  in  it.  Relationship  is  thus  reduced  to  quality 
of  a  whole,  and,  since  all  things  are  related,  individuality  is 


232  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

reduced  to  membership  in  the  one  absolute  individual,  the 
universe. 

Let  us  apply  this  theory  to  some  concrete  cases.  The  rela- 
tions between  members  of  a  family  imply  their  existence  as 
members  of  an  individual  of  higher  order  —  a  family  spirit 
—  which  determines  them  to  be  what  they  are.  The  love 
that  may  be  between  them  is  not  a  mere  sentiment  of  the 
father,  mother,  and  children  severally,  but  a  feeling  which 
pervades  the  whole,  and  in  which  they  sjiare.  They  do  not 
create  it ;  on  the  contrary,  it  informs  and  uses  them  as  its 
instruments.  Or  if,  on  the  other  hand,  there  be  strife  in  that 
family,  that  too  is  a  dissension  in  the  whole,  an  experience 
not  existing  distributively  in  the  members  of  the  family,  but 
qualifying  the  whole,  and  through  the  whole,  the  members. 
Those  that  love  are  made  into  one  through  their  love,  and  in 
loving  express  not  so  much  themselves  as  love  itself,  which 
uses  them  as  its  organs.  Causal  relations,  again,  imply  the 
existence  of  a  whole  which  includes  all  things.  The  supposed 
interactions  between  the  parts  of  this  whole  are  really  only 
qualitative  changes  of  its  single  nature.  When  consistently 
carried  out,  as  Russell  has  shown, ^  this  view  results  in  the 
denial  of  any  real  individuality  short  of  that  of  the  universe. 
For  in  so  far  as  two  things  are,  as  such,  different,  they 
must,  since  difference  is  a  relation,  make  a  whole  of  which 
difference  itself  is  a  quality.  Difference  is  not,  therefore,  a 
character  of  things  which  are  different,  but  of  the  one  thing 
which  includes  them,  and  through  including  them  mxakes 
them  different.  Hence  even  difference  is  determined  by  the 
whole,  and  all  real  individuality  vanishes. 

1  Op.  ciL,  sees.  2IS,  425. 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  233 

The  monistic  theory  may  seek  a  psycho-epistemological  as 
well  as  a  logical  basis.  All  knowledge  begins  with  the  whole 
and  finds  parts  only  subsequently.  For  example,  we  know 
the  human  body  first  through  its  activity  as  a  whole;  it  is 
the  man,  the  total  attitudes  and  movements,  with  which  we 
start.  We  then  proceed  to  distinguish  the  various  limbs  and 
organs  according  to  spatial  solidarity  and  differentiation  of 
function.  The  division  of  the  organs  into  tissues  and  of  the 
tissues  into  cells  is  a  later  acquisition.  Only  recently  have 
parts  been  discerned  in  the  cell  itself.  Throughout,  the  pro- 
cedure has  been  from  the  whole  to  the  parts.  Logically  the 
whole  from  which  we  start  is  prior  to  the  elements  which  we 
subsequently  discover.  The  failure  to  recognize  this  is 
responsible  for  many  of  the  difl&culties  of  physiology  and 
biology.  Exactly  the  same  process  has  taken  place  in  the 
study  of  the  self.  We  start  with  the  self  as  a  whole,  the  first 
and  most  indubitable  piece  of  psychological  knowledge.  The 
distinction  of  the  various  kinds  of  elements,  sensations  and 
feelings,  and  the  modes  of  their  combination  in  association 
or  active  synthesis,  is  secondary  to  the  prime  discovery  of 
the  self.  The  failure  of  associationism  and  psychological 
atomism  has  its  origin  in  the  failure  to  perceive  that  in  pass- 
ing from  the  self  to  its  elements  we  do  not  destroy  it ;  it 
remains  the  primary  reality,  and  its  efficacy  as  a  whole 
persists  and  has  to  be  reckoned  with. 

Russell's  Principles  of  Mathematics '  contains  several 
logical  arguments  against  the  monistic  theory  of  relations. 
The  first  is  as  follows:  Consider  A  in  relation  to  B,  symbol- 

1  Op.  cit.,  sec.  215. 


234  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

ized  as  ARB.  Suppose  that  R  is  an  asymmetrical  relation, 
that  is,  a  relation  such  that  if  ARB  is  true,  then  BRA  is 
false.  Now  "  the  monistic  theory  of  relations  holds  that 
every  relational  proposition  ARB  is  to  be  resolved  into  a 
proposition  concerning  the  whole  which  A  and  B  compose 
—  a  proposition  which  we  may  denote  hy  (A B)R.  .  .  .  The 
proposition  A  is  greater  than  B,  we  are  told,  does  not  really 
say  anything  about  either  yl  or  5,  but  about  the  two  to- 
gether. Denoting  the  whole  which  they  compose  by  (AB), 
it  says,  we  will  suppose,  '  (AB)  contains  diversity  of  magni- 
tude.' Now  to  this  statement  there  is  a  special  objection  in 
the  case  of  asymmetry.  (AB)  is  symmetrical  with  respect  to 
A  and  B,  and  thus  the  property  of  the  whole  will  be  exactly 
the  same  in  the  case  where  A  is  greater  than  B  as  in  the  case 
where  B  is  greater  than  ^  ...  in  the  whole  (AB)  as  such 
there  is  neither  antecedent  nor  consequent.  In  order  to  dis- 
tinguish a  whole  (AB)  from  a  whole  (BA),  as  we  must  do  if  we 
are  to  explain  asymmetry,  we  shall  be  forced  back  from  the 
whole  to  the  parts  and  their  relation.  For  (AB)  and  (BA) 
consist  of  precisely  the  same  parts,  and  differ  in  no  respect 
whatever  save  the  sense  of  the  relation  between  A  and  B. 
*  A  is  greater  than  B  '  and  '  B  is  greater  than  A  '  are  proposi- 
tions containing  precisely  the  same  constituents,  and  giving 
rise  therefore  to  precisely  the  same  whole;  their  difference 
lies  solely  in  the  fact  that  greater  is,  in  the  first  case,  a  rela- 
tion of  A  to  B,  in  the  second,  a  relation  of  B  to  A.  Thus  the 
distinction  of  sense,  that  is,  the  distinction  between  an 
asymmetrical  relation  and  its  converse,  is  one  which  the 
monistic  theory  of  relations  is  wholly  unable  to  explain." 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  235 

This  argument  from  asymmetrical  relations  might  seem 
to  have  lost  all  of  its  force  here,  just  as  in  the  case  of  the 
monadistic  theory,  through  Royce's  discovery  already  cited 
that  asymmetrical  relations  can  be  defined  in  terms  of 
symmetrical  ones.  Royce  has  shown  how  that  most  general 
of  all  asymmetrical  relations,  the  relation  of  antecedence 
and  consequence,  can  be  defined  in  terms  of  his  perfectly- 
symmetrical  0-relation;  whence  it  follows  that  the  order 
systems  of  space  and  time,  the  impHcation  of  propositions, 
the  inclusion  of  classes,  the  greater  and  less  of  quantities,  all 
of  which  seem  to  depend  on  asymmetry,  are  really  definable 
in  terms  of  symmetry.  But  doubts  have  been  raised  against 
this  reduction  of  asymmetry  to  symmetry.  For,  consider  a 
very  simple  case,  the  order  of  three  points  on  a  line.  Call  the 
points  A,  B,  and  C,  and  let  them  be  in  this  order.  Now  at 
first  sight  the  order  seems  to  be  definable  only  in  terms  of 
some  asymmetrical  and  transitive  relation  such  as  "  before," 
the  two  propositions  "  A  is  before  B  "  and  *'  .S  is  before  C  " 
defining  the  order  of  the  terms  in  question.  But  if  we  make 
use  of  the  perfectly  symmetrical  relations  "next  to"  and 
"  not  next  to,"  it  is  plain  that  we  can  express  precisely  the 
same  facts;  the  same  order  of  elements  is  given  by  the  logi- 
cal product  of  the  three  statements  "  ^  is  next  to  B,"  '^  B  is 
next  to  C  "  and  "  C  is  not  next  to  ^,"  the  last  proposition 
being  necessary  to  insure  that  the  series  be  an  open  and  not 
a  closed  one.  But  now,  have  we  actually  redefined  the 
order  without  any  covert  assumption  of  asymmetry  ?  That 
something  of  the  kind  has  been  done  can  be  seen  if  we 
consider  what  would  be  the  definition  of  the  order  CBA, 


236  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

in  terms  of  the  sjTnmetrical  relations  "next  to"  and  "not 
next  to."  Suppose  we  take  the  converse  of  each  of  the  above 
propositions,  beginning  however  with  the  last  one,  and 
forming  their  logical  product.  We  then  get:  "A  is  not 
next  to  C,"  "C  is  next  to  5,"  "B  is  next  to  A."  And  this 
is  the  definition  which  we  seek.  But  now,  since  the  original 
propositions  are  symmetrical,  and  the  relation  of  product 
between  propositions  is  also  commutative  and  symmetrical, 
our  new  definition  is  precisely  equivalent  to  the  one  from 
which  we  started.  As  a  mere  inspection  of  the  case  suffices 
to  show,  the  symmetrical  definition  is  as  good  for  the  order 
CBA  as  for  ABC;  hence,  in  itself,  it  does  not  provide  for  the 
distinction  between  them.  As  Royce  himself  puts  it,  the 
distinction  between  an  asymmetrical  relation  and  its  con- 
verse, hence  the  very  existence  of  an  asymmetrical  relation, 
depends  on  the  choice  of  an  origin.  Whether  we  shall  read 
ABC  or  CBA,  the  direction  or  sense  of  the  order,  depends 
wholly  on  whether  we  choose  yl  or  C  as  a  "  base."  This 
determines  whether  C  is  before  B  or  B  is  before  C. 

The  results  which  follow  from  this  discussion  are  of  the 
utmost  importance.  First,  there  is  the  fact  —  which  how- 
ever we  do  not  use  here  —  that  there  is  an  aspect  of  every 
ordinal  situation  which  can  be  expressed  in  symmetrical 
terms.  Yet  this  does  not  prove,  as  Royce  asserts,  that  the 
distinction  between  a  symmetrical  and  an  asymmetrical 
relation  is  a  superficial  one ;  for,  as  we  shall  show,  the  choice 
of  a  base,  upon  which  the  existence  of  asymmetry  depends, 
is  not  arbitrary,  but  grounded  in  the  very  nature  of  reaHty. 
What  is  of  capital  importance  to  us  just  now  is  the  fact  that 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS        237 

in  order  to  get  the  meaning  of  asymmetry,  the  sense  or 
direction  of  a  relation,  it  is  necessary  to  have  recourse  to 
some  definite,  particular  element  in  the  whole  which  the 
related  elements  form.  Hence  the  precise  point  of  Russell's 
objection  to  the  monistic  theory  of  relations  remains,  despite 
Royce's  discovery.  It  constitutes,  in  my  opinion,  a  fatal 
objection  to  extreme  forms  of  monism.  It  proves  that  the 
whole  cannot  predetermine  the  complete  character  of  the 
parts,  that  you  cannot  describe  the  whole  as  whole,  neglect- 
ing the  individuality  of  the  parts,  and  get  all  the  meaning 
which  it  contains. 

Russell's'  second  objection  is  as  follows:  Monism  pre- 
supposes that  all  statements  of  relation  can  be  interpreted 
as  the  ascription  of  corresponding  predicates  to  the  whole 
formed  by  the  elements  in  relation;  that  is,  that  all  propo- 
sitions can  be  resolved  into  subject-predicate  propositions. 
But  "  a  predicate  is  either  something  or  nothing.  If  nothing 
it  cannot  be  predicated,  and  the  pretended  proposition  col- 
lapses. If  something,  predication  expresses  a  relation," 
which,  by  the  way,  is  also  asymmetrical,  thus  invoh-ing  the 
theory  in  contradiction  with  itself,  and  entailing  the  first 
difl&culty. 

Again,  if  every  relation  is  reduced  to  some  quality  of  the 
one  whole,  the  universe,  we  are  no  further  towards  a  final 
reduction  of  relations  than  when  we  started;  for  the  quali- 
ties of  the  whole  would  themselves  stand  in  relation  to  one 
another.  A  situation  would  exist  like  that  pointed  out  by 
Bradley  in  his  objection  to  monadism,  with  the  universe 
substituted  for  the  many  separate  individuals. 

^  Op.  cil.,  sec.  426. 


238  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

A  final  difficulty,  also  due  to  Russell,  is  the  following:  — 
ARB  implies,  according  to  monism,  that  there  exists  a  whole 
of  which  A  and  B  are  members.  There  is  then  a  relation  — 
that  of  membership  of  A  and  B  in  the  whole  —  still  on  our 
hands  to  interpret.  Apparently  we  have  got  no  further  than 
we  were  at  the  start.  We  have  simply  shifted  the  burden  of 
interpretation  from  the  relation  between  the  elements  to  the 
relation  between  the  elements  and  the  whole.  If  now  the 
monist  goes  on  to  interpret  this  relation  in  terms  of  his 
scheme,  he  meets  with  unwelcome  consequences.  The  rela- 
tion of  A  to  the  whole  of  which  it  is  a  member  becomes  a 
mere  quaUty  of  the  whole  AB.  That  is,  membership  in  the 
whole  AB  means  simply  the  possession  by  the  whole  of  a 
certain  quahty.  In  other  words,  the  individuals  A  and  B 
reduce  to  quahties  of  the  whole  —  they  disappear  as  indi- 
viduals. And  yet  this  consequence  is  impossible.  For  the 
relation  of  membership  in  a  whole  is  asymmetrical ;  in  order 
to  understand  it,  therefore,  one  is  driven  from  the  whole  to 
the  individuals;  one  has  to  admit  their  existence  as  such. 
Thus  the  argument  against  monism  from  the  nature  of 
asymmetrical  relations  can  be  appUed  in  the  case  of  every 
relation;  for  each  involves,  even  when  symmetrical,  the 
asymmetrical  relation  of  the  individuals  so  related  to  the 
whole  which  they  form  through  relation.  If,  however,  in 
monadistic  fashion,  one  retains  the  reality  of  the  individuals, 
while  maintaining  the  sufficiency  of  the  interpretation  of  the 
relation  of  membership  in  a  whole  in  terms  of  qualities, 
affirming  that  the  relation  means  simply  that  the  member 
possesses  a  certain  quality  and  the  whole  another  quality,  it 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS        239 

is  obvious  that  what  one  does  is  equally  disastrous  —  one 
leaves  the  whole  and  member  disunited,  two  separate 
individuals,  side  by  side,  not  one  in  the  other. 

A  concrete  illustration  will  perhaps  clarify  this  last  argu- 
ment. Suppose  the  relation  to  be  interpreted  is  that  of  father 
to  son.  This  imphes  the  existence  of  a  whole,  a  family,  of 
which  the  father  and  son  are  members.  But  how  interpret 
the  relation  of  membership  which  they  bear  to  the  whole  ? 
If  we  follow  out  the  monistic  theory  we  must  afl&rm  that 
membership  in  the  whole  means  the  possession  by  the  whole 
of  some  quahty  ■ —  is,  in  fact,  a  quality  of  the  whole.  The 
family  becomes  the  sole  individual;  the  members,  mere 
"  organs  of  its  spirit."  If,  on  the  other  hand,  we  perceive 
that  this  sort  of  interpretation  is  mythological,  that  the 
family  is  created  by  its  members  and  does  not  pre-exist  to 
them ;  then  if  we  would  still  maintain  the  sufficiency  of  the 
interpretation  of  relations  in  terms  of  qualities,  we  must 
simply  afhrm  that  membership  in  a  family  means  the  exist- 
ence of  one  individual,  the  family,  and  the  existence  of  other 
individuals,  father  and  son,  each  possessing  qualities  corre- 
sponding to  their  relationships,  and  what  we  reach  in  the  end 
is  the  separate  existence  of  three  individuals,  father,  son 
and  family. 

Russell's  ^  own  statement  of  this  argument  is,  I  think,  not 
flawless.  Russell  puts  the  difl&culty  thus.  Suppose  you  seek 
to  interpret  ARB  as  AR{AB).  Then  you  must  proceed  to 
interpret  this  new  relational  situation  as  ^  in  relation  to  the 
whole  composed  of  A  and  AB.  But  this  whole,  according  to 

*  Op.  cit.,  sec.  215. 


240  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

monism,  is  not  the  same  as  AB.  Whence  you  get  AR{A  ,AB). 
But  plainly  you  have  your  task  over  again ;  you  are  falling 
into  the  infinite  regress.  Now  the  existence  of  the  regress  is 
the  matter  which  I  doubt.  It  arises  from  the  supposition 
that  the  whole  composed  of  A  and  AB  is  3.  different  whole 
from  AB.  Russell  believes  that  all  monists  are  compelled  to 
make  this  supposition;  but  this,  I  think,  is  hardly  the  truth. 
The  two  wholes  are  the  same;  just  as  when  one  class  in- 
cludes another,  or  one  extent  embraces  another,  the  logical 
sum  of  the  two,  part  and  whole,  is  the  same  as  the  whole. 
It  is  difficult  to  see  what  could  be  added  to  or  subtracted 
from  the  whole  to  make  it  different,  by  adding  to  it  one  of 
its  own  parts,  already  included  in  the  original  whole.  The 
two  wholes  are  different  in  the  statement,  but  not  in  reality. 
Russell  supposes  that  all  monists  are  committed  to  this 
view  because  they  maintain  that  the  whole  is  not  identical 
with  the  logical  sum  of  its  parts.  This,  however,  is  a  mis- 
understanding of  the  ordinary  monistic  position.  When  a 
monist  says  that  a  whole  is  not  the  sum  of  its  parts  he  means, 
if  he  has  any  explicit  meaning  at  all,  that  when  elements 
acquire  relationships,  and  so  become  involved  in  a  whole, 
they  are  altered  from  their  original  natures,  hence  are  not 
the  same  in  the  whole  as  they  were  outside  of  it  —  the  whole 
is  not  identical  with  the  mere  arithmetical  sum  of  the  ele- 
ments as  they  were  before  they  became  its  members.  And 
this  seems  to  me  nothing  less  than  a  statement  of  the  truth 
—  the  elements  in  the  whole  are  not  the  same  as  they  were 
before  they  entered  it.  Yet  the  whole  is  the  logical  sum  of  its 
own  parts,  of  the  elements  as  they  now  subsist  in  it.    And 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  24 1 

the  relation  of  whole  and  member,  the  relation  which  we  are 
now  studying,  is  not  the  relation  of  the  elements  before  they 
were  members  of  the  whole,  but  of  the  actual  elements  of  the 
actual  whole  which  now  includes  them.  And  no  monist,  to 
my  knowledge,  ever  maintained  anything  different.  The 
attempt,  then,  to  interpret  membership  in  a  whole  after  the 
ordinary  monistic  fashion  does  not  involve  an  infinite 
regress;  it  does  involve,  however,  the  consequences  which 
were  pointed  out  before  —  the  loss  of  the  individuality  of 
the  members  or  else  the  separation  of  them  from  the  whole. 
The  first  alternative  is  impossible  for  the  reason  which 
Russell  himself  urges  —  the  relation  of  membership  has  no 
meaning  unless  you  preserve  the  individuality  of  the  mem- 
bers, and  the  last  is  obviously  unreal.  These  consequences 
vanish,  as  we  shall  see,  as  soon  as  relation  is  understood  to 
involve  the  equal  reality  of  individuals  and  the  whole, 
together  with  the  union  of  the  former  in  the  latter. 

So  far  as  I  know,  no  sufiicient  answer  has  been  made  to 
these  objections  of  Russell,  and  they  constitute,  in  my 
opinion,  a  perfectly  valid  proof  of  the  falsity  of  monism. 

The  foregoing  critique  of  theories  of  relations  implies  a 
positive  theory  of  our  own,  which  we  are  now  in  a  position  to 
develop.  The  dependence  of  our  theory  on  all  the  views 
which  we  have  rejected  will  be  evident.  But  this  can  be 
nothing  against  our  view;  for  it  would  be  strange  if  the  dif- 
ferent theories  did  not  each  contain  an  element  of  truth, 
since  they  have  been  framed  by  men  with  a  vast  experience 
in  the  problems  at  issue  and  with  no  other  motive  than  the 
love  of  truth. 


242  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

We  must  begin  our  account  by  declaring  the  sense  in 
which  we  use  the  term  relation.  Relation  is  used  in  contem- 
porary logic  to  denote  the  class  of  couples  which  exemplify 
the  relation  in  question,  just  as  one  may  use  blue  to  denote 
the  class  of  all  blue  things.  This  extensional  meaning  is 
used  by  Russell  in  the  formal  development  of  the  theory  of 
relations.  Whatever  working  advantage  it  may  have,  it  is 
obviously  a  secondary  meaning;  it  presupposes,  as  Russell 
clearly  understands,  a  meaning  of  relation  closely  analogous 
to  that  of  class  concept,  through  which  an  ordinary  class  of 
things  is  defined.  Indeed,  the  defining  function  through 
which  a  class  of  couples  is  created  is  absolutely  correlative 
to  the  function  which  defines  an  ordinary  class,  the  only  dif- 
ference being  that  in  the  case  of  relation  the  function  has  two 
variables:  "  :r  is  a  0,"  or  0  (x),  corresponds  to  "  x,  y  have 
the  relation  6,"  or  d  {x,  y).  But  here  <t>  and  6  are  both  uni- 
versals,  the  one  being,  say  the  predicate  "blue,"  the  other, 
the  relation  "  precedes."  But  what  I  shall  mean  by  relation 
in  this  discussion  will  not  be  a  imiversal,  but  any  concrete  in- 
stance of  a  universal.  Just  as  I  may  use  the  concept  "  blue  " 
to  denote  the  concrete  quality  of  a  real  thing,  like  the  sky,  so 
I  may  use  the  concept  "  precedes  "  to  denote  the  concrete 
precedence  of  A  when  compared  with  B,  A  and  B  being 
real  men. 

Right  here,  however,  I  am  involved  in  controversy.  Rus- 
sell maintains  that  all  relations  are  universals,  that  every 
relation  is  precisely  and  numerically  the  same  in  all  cases  of 
relation,  that,  in  fact,  there  are  no  instances  of  relation. 
Before  examining  Russell's  arguments,  I  will  state  certain 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  243 

reasons  which  lie  close  at  hand  to  render  it  improbable.  In 
the  first  place,  the  notion  of  a  universal  without  instances  is 
so  strange  as  immediately  to  excite  suspicion.  One  is  familiar 
with  the  denial  of  the  existence  of  universals  and  the  attempt 
to  reduce  them  to  the  multitude  of  their  instances;  but  the 
existence  of  a  universal  without  instances  would  be  an 
unparalleled  phenomenon.  And,  empirically,  it  seems  plain 
that  a  relation  is  just  as  much  differentiated  by  the  pairs  of 
elements  between  which  it  holds  as  a  sense  quality  is  indi- 
vidualized by  the  different  individual  things  which  are 
characterized  by  it.  If  the  green  of  one  leaf  is  not  numeri- 
cally the  same  green  as  that  of  another  leaf,  so  the  relation 
of  ruler  to  subject  in  England  is  a  different  relation  from 
that  which  holds  in  Germany,  and  even  the  royal  relation 
to  one  man  in  England  is  not  the  same  as  to  another  man  — 
not  the  same,  for  example,  to  Asquith  as  to  Balfour.  Every 
relation  between  unique  pairs  of  terms  is  a  unique  relation, 
which  of  course  does  not  prevent  its  being  an  instance  of 
some  universal. 

The  argument  of  Russell  ^  is  based  on  the  analysis  of  the 
relation  of  difference,  where  the  relation  does  not  denote 
difference  of  quaUty,  but  bare  numerical  difference,  in  virtue 
of  which  individuals  are  two ;  that  is,  it  is  the  relation  that 
would  hold  even  between  precisely  similar  things.  The 
argument  is  this:  "  even  if  differences  did  differ  they  would 
still  have  to  have  something  in  common.  But  the  most 
general  way  for  two  terms  to  have  something  in  common  is 
by  both  having  a  given  relation  to  a  given  term.  Hence  if  no 

1  The  Principles  of  Mathematics,  sec.  55. 


244  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

two  terms  can  have  the  same  relation  it  follows  that  no  two 
terms  can  have  anything  in  common,  and  hence  different 
differences  will  not  be  in  any  definable  sense  instances  of 
difference.  I  conclude  then  that  the  relation  affirmed  be- 
tween A  and  B  in  the  proposition  '  A  differs  from  B  '  is  the 
general  relation  of  difference,  and  is  precisely  and  numeri- 
cally the  same  as  the  relation  affirmed  between  C  and  D  in 
'  C  differs  from  Z).'  And  for  the  same  reasons  this  doctrine 
must  be  held  to  be  true  of  all  relations;  relations  do  not  have 
instances,  but  are  strictly  the  same  in  all  propositions  in 
which  they  occur."  In  a  note  Russell  indicates  the  real  point 
of  this  argument:  "  the  relation  of  an  instance  to  its  uni- 
versal, at  any  rate,  must  be  actually  and  numerically  the 
same  in  all  cases  in  which  it  occurs." 

This  argument  plainly  rests  on  the  definition  given  of 
similarity.  But  this  definition  does  not,  I  think,  involve  the 
consequences  which  Russell  draws  from  it.  Two  terms  are 
indeed  similar  or  have  something  in  common  when  the  same 
universal  is  related  to  each  in  whatever  way  one  may  ex- 
press the  relation  of  the  universal  to  the  particular.  But 
why  does  this  definition  involve  that  the  relation  in  question 
should  be  precisely  and  numerically  the  same  ?  Is  it  not 
sufficient  that  they  be  two  relations  of  the  same  type  ?  That 
is,  that  they  be  both  relations  of  an  individual  to  the  uni- 
versal in  question  ?  Now  to  this  Russell  of  course  objects 
that  in  referring  to  relations  as  being  of  the  same  type,  one 
is  making  a  circular  definition;  for  to  be  of  the  same  t3T)e 
means  nothing  else  than  to  be  similar.  We  raise  here  one  of 
the  most  difficult  and  debatable  problems  of  the  recent 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  245 

development  of  logic.  But  it  seems  as  if  Russell's  own 
latest  theory,  that  of  Principia  Mathematica,  the  so-called 
theory  of  types,  permits  us  to  show  how  this  seeming  circu- 
larity is  only  seeming.  For  it  is  impossible  to  give  a  defini- 
tion of  similarity  that  should  cover  all  cases.  The  similarity 
of  two  individuals  is  on  a  different  plane  from  the  similarity 
of  two  relations.  Two  terms  are  similar,  if  they  possess 
similar  relations  to  a  given  term,  in  particular,  to  a  given 
universal;  two  relations  are  similar,  if  they  possess  similar 
relations  to  their  universal.  These  definitions,  are  not  circu- 
lar or  tautologous  because  the  similarity  of  individuals  is 
different  from  the  similarity  of  relations,  and  the  similarity 
of  relations  of  relations  is  again  different  from  both.  The 
paradox  and  the  infinite  regress  involved  here  are  precisely 
the  same  as  in  the  well-known  case  of  the  class  of  all  classes, 
and  they  are  solved  in  precisely  the  same  way;  in  the  case 
just  cited,  the  solution  being  the  recognition  that  a  class  of 
classes  is  not  an  ordinary  class  and  cannot  be  treated  as  one. 
The  whole  doctrine  of  types  is  indeed  a  recognition  of  what 
Hegel  so  strongly  insisted  upon :  the  inseparabihty  of  same- 
ness and  difference.  Relations  are  always  the  same  when 
they  belong  to  the  same  universal,  but  they  are  also  and 
indefeasibly  different  in  so  far  as  they  hold  between  different 
individuals. 

From  this  discussion  I  therefore  conclude  that  there  is  no 
reason  for  believing  that  relations  are  universals  without 
instances,  and  hence  that  in  every  case  of  relation  a  unique, 
that  is,  an  individual  concrete  relation  is  involved.  It  is  with 
these  and  not  with  the  corresponding  universals  that  we 


246  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

shall  be  concerned  here.    Let  us  now  proceed  to  the  syste- 
matic interpretation  of  relations. 

First,  whenever  there  is  a  relation  between  individuals  a 
specific  character  is  conferred  on  each  by  the  relationship; 
or,  more  accurately,  part  of  the  meaning  of  being  related  is 
always  the  possession  of  certain  characters,  which  we  shall 
call  relative  or  acquired  characters.  Thus  part  of  the  mean- 
ing of  "A  is  predecessor  of  .B  "  is  "A  is  (predecessor-of- 
B)  "  and  "  B  is  (successor-of-^)."  These  propositions,  as 
Russell  points  out,  are  directly  involved  in  the  original 
statement.  The  very  linguistic  form  of  the  proposition  per- 
mits of  this  analysis;  the  entire  latter  part  of  the  proposi- 
tion is  predicated  of  the  earlier  term  of  the  relation,  which 
may  properly  be  called  its  subject.  Every  concrete  case 
of  relationship  is  an  illustration  of  this  fact.  As  we  have 
already  observed,  social  relations  are  the  most  obvious 
instances.  To  be  father  of  means  in  part  to  possess  certain 
characters  correlative  with  others  involved  in  being  a  son. 
This  aspect  of  the  meaning  of  relationship  is  rightly  insisted 
on  by  the  monadists;  but  they  go  astray,  as  we  have  seen, 
because  they  seek  to  reduce  the  whole  meaning  to  it. 

But  now,  although  in  all  cases  of  relation  the  presence  of 
such  acquired  characters  is  involved,  it  is  equally  clear  that 
the  nature  of  the  individuals  related  cannot  be  equated  to 
these  characters.  In  all  cases  some  non-relational  characters 
render  the  individuals  independent,  in  part,  of  other  individ- 
uals and  of  relations.  The  concrete  situations  of  our  experi- 
ence bear  this  out.  Let  us  examine  several  of  these.  Take 
the  case  of  one  thing  being  larger  than  another.    What  we 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  247 

call  the  size  of  a  thing  is  certainly  not  independent  of  com- 
parison with  other  things.  It  is  well  known  that  our  con- 
ception, nay,  even  our  perception  of  size,  is  the  result  of 
numberless  comparisons,  that  is,  relations.  Yet,  even  so,  we 
must  admit  a  purely  quahtative  aspect  of  bigness,  spread- 
outness,  voluminousness.  Or  take  the  case  of  one  thing 
which  is  predecessor  of  another.  It  is  always  richer  than 
this  relationship.  It  derives  part  of  its  nature  from  it,  yet 
surely  not  all.  You  can  destroy  the  relation  or  give  it  the 
converse  —  make  it  successor  —  and  it  will  still  be  in  part 
what  it  was  before.  We  find  in  every  case  that  comes  to  our 
experience  that  related  elements  are  not  wholly  made  by  the 
relations  into  which  they  are  seen  to  enter.  And  we  have  no 
reason  for  supposing  that  this  has  been  different  in  the  past. 
Into  the  making  of  every  element  the  contact  of  other  ele- 
ments in  relation  has  entered;  but  in  every  case  the  element 
has  started  with  a  nature  not  yet  made  by  the  relationship. 
Go  back  as  far  as  you  will  in  the  process  of  the  making  of 
anything  you  know,  you  will  always  find  alongside  of  the 
acquired,  relative,  or  dependent,  the  native,  original,  or 
spontaneous. 

There  is,  to  put  the  matter  in  another  way,  some  truth  in 
the  view  of  relations  as  "  external."  A  consideration  of  the 
various  sense  quaHties  enforces  this  most  clearly.  Take 
colors,  for  example.  The  quality  of  each  color  is  certainly 
not  unaffected  by  its  juxtaposition  with  other  colors,  upon 
which  its  significance  for  feeling  strictly  depends,  as  every 
student  of  pictorial  art  understands,  yet  if,  without  ever 
having  seen  color  before,  one  were  to  open  one's  eyes  upon 


248  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

the  blue  of  the  sky,  surely  a  distinct  and  specific  quale  would 
enter  into  experience.  And  if  you  put  a  color  and  a  tone 
together  in  experience,  you  certainly  do  recreate  the  nature 
of  each;  yet  in  so  far  as  one  item  is  still  color  and  the  other 
sound,  there  has  remained  an  aboriginal  essence  not  made 
by  the  relationship.  Of  course  it  will  be  objected  that  color 
depends  upon  relation  to  eye  and  stimulus.  But  do  we  know 
enough  about  this  relation  to  show  that  the  quahty  depends 
wholly  upon  it  ?  But  suppose  we  knew  all  the  relations  of 
each  thing,  would  there  remain  any  aspect  of  individuahty 
not  made  by  these  relationships  ?  I  see  no  reason  for  think- 
ing that  the  real  situation  is  other  than  what  we  find  it  to  be 
in  our  experience.  We  find  a  multitude  of  related  elements. 
Each  has  a  nature.  When  we  study  these  natures  we  find 
that  they  are  for  the  most  part  relative.  The  more  we  study 
the  more  relativity  we  discern.  Yet  we  never  discover 
complete  relativity. 

The  possession  of  acquired  or  relative  characters  by  indi- 
viduals is  thus  an  essential  part  of  the  fact  of  relation.  That 
it  is  not  the  whole  of  this  fact  is  clear  from  the  criticism  of 
monadism.  There  is  at  least  the  further  fact  of  unity  which 
monadism,  as  we  have  seen,  denies.  The  necessity  for  unity 
emerges,  however,  from  all  those  considerations  which  prove 
the  insufiiciency  of  that  doctrine.  Mutual  modification,  the 
acquirement  of  new  characters,  is  dependent  on  unity  and 
inexplicable  apart  from  it.  The  situation  ARB  means  not 
only  that  A  is  predecessor  and  B  is  follower,  but  that  the  two 
elements  are  in  union  with  one  another.  Without  union  how 
could  the  one  be  predecessor  of,  and  the  other  follower  of^ 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  249 

the  other  ?  Relative  characters  conceived  to  belong  to  a 
separate  individual  are  only  partially  meaningful ;  in  order 
to  complete  their  meaning  it  is  necessary  to  have  recourse  to 
the  other  individual  of  the  relationship;  their  presence  in 
one  individual  implies  its  union  with  the  other.  To  take 
another  illustration.  If  A  is  greater  than  B,  why  of  course 
A  has  the  property  of  being  greater  and  B  has  that  of  being 
less.  But  A  is  not  merely  greater,  but  greater  than,  and  B  is 
not  only  less,  but  less  than.  Individuals  cannot  be  greater  or 
less  unto  themselves ;  they  are  greater  and  less  with  definite 
reference  to  other  individuals,  in  union  with  them.  Again, 
the  fact  that  A  is  father  of  B  means  the  possession  by  A  of 
certain  characters,  certain  sentiments  and  purposes.  But 
A  is  not  a  mere  father;  he  is  father  of  B.  This  imphes  union 
of  A  and  B.  To  say  that  unity  is  subjective  is  to  involve 
oneself  in  the  absurdities  already  recounted.  It  is  as  objec- 
tive as  the  existence  of  A  and  his  relative  characters.  Apart 
from  its  union  with  other  things,  an  individual  has  only  its 
native  characters.  Thus  apart  from  union  with  B,  A  has 
bigness,  but  is  not  greater  than ;  or  yl  is  a  point,  but  is  not 
before  B;  or  ^  is  a  man,  but  is  not  a  father.  In  our  discus- 
sion of  monadism  the  necessity  for  unity  was  proved  with 
especial  force  for  the  relations  of  time,  cause  and  knowledge. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  theory  that  relations  are  ultimate 
facts  is  an  overemphasis  of  unity  as  a  necessary  aspect  of  re- 
lation. Because  of  the  unity  which  they  imply,  you  cannot 
reduce  relations  to  qualities  of  the  related  individuals.  Yet 
you  cannot  treat  relation  as  something  over  and  above  the 
relative  characters  of  individuals  and  their  unity.    Just  as 


250  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

soon  as  you  do  this  you  begin  to  treat  relation  as  itself  an  in- 
dividual and  then  you  fall  into  all  the  difficulties  which  we 
recounted  in  our  critique  of  Russell's  view.  Russell^  himself 
raises  the  most  important  of  these  when  he  asks,  what 
serves  to  unite  A  and  R  and  B  in  the  proposition  ARB  ?  He 
answers,  a  certain  unity,  indefinable  and  unanalyzable, 
which  distinguishes  ARB  from  A  and  R  and  B.  But  clearly 
this  statement  of  the  situation  is  redundant.  Relation  and 
unity  are  not  two  facts;  unity  is  one  aspect  of  the  complex 
fact,  relation.  There  is  no  reason  for  asking  what  unites  A 
and  B  in  the  proposition  ARB,  for  R  itself  does  this.  The 
unity  of  A  and  B  is  given  in  their  being  related. "  You  cannot 
demand  the  unity  of  A  and  R  and  B,  because  R  is  not  another 
fact  besides  A  and  B,  but  just  that  unity  which  you  are 
seeking  between  them.  Relations  are  modes  of  unification  of 
elements,  not  further  elements  demanding  unification. 
Despite  the  countenance  which  linguistic  usage  may  seem  to 
give  to  the  view,  relations  have  not  —  to  use  the  language  of 
Leibnitz  —  one  foot  in  one  individual,  another  foot  in  the 
other,  with  a  part  stretching  between.  Relations  are  not 
thus  suspended  in  the  air;  they  are  supported  throughout 
their  whole  length;  there  is  no  part  of  them  which  does  not 
belong  somewhere.  They  are  neither  divided  up  among  the 
terms,  as  Leibnitz  thought,  or  suspended  between  them,  as 
Russell  would  have  us  believe,  but  characters  of  the  terms 
when  united.  We  should  not  think  of  the  unity  which  rela- 
tion involves  as  a  link  or  a  tie  or  as  glue,  as  a  thing  which 
externally  affixes  itself  to  elements  and  thus  unites  them. 

^  Op.  ciL,  par.  54, 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  25 1 

We  should  think  of  relations  as  rather  running  through 
terms,  as  embedded  in  them,  or  as  threads  upon  which  they 
are  strung;  or  if  we  cannot  help  thinking  of  them  as  bonds, 
we  should  picture  them  as  so  tight  that  they  cut  into  the 
flesh  and  leave  no  space  between. 

A  couple  of  illustrations  will  illumine  this  discussion 
immediately.  Suppose  some  impulse  or  passion  contends 
with  a  principle  in  the  mind  of  a  man.  The  struggle  of  the 
two  is  what  we  should  call  their  relation.  Yet  if  we  examine 
the  concrete  reality  before  us  we  shall  not  find  that  this  re- 
lation has  any  existence  alongside  of  the  two  forces;  it  is 
rather  a  character  of  each  in  its  connection  with  the  other; 
it  is  that  which  makes  them  contending  rather  than  peaceful 
forces.  Again,  if  A  is  greater  than  B,  greater  than  does  not 
exist  alongside  of  A  and  B;  it  is  a  character  which  A  pos- 
sesses in  its  togetherness  with  B  when  we  compare  them. 
You  cannot  find  it  anywhere  between  them;  its  whole  self 
is  distributed  among  them  —  as  greater  than,  a  character  of 
A,  and  as  less  than,  a  character  of  5  —  in  their  union.  The 
feeling  of  relation  of  which  James  speaks  is  a  quality  of 
elements  in  their  union,  not  an  independent  something 
alongside  of  them.  Relations  have  a  pecuhar  instability. 
They  are  certainly  not  individuals;  they  are  too  secondary 
to  individuals  and  too  unsubstantial.  Yet  they  are  with 
equal  certainty  not  mere  adjectives  of  terms.  They  are 
something  more  than  each  taken  singly;  they  embrace  and 
unite  them,  giving  color  to  each. 

Of  course  in  so  far  as  we  recognize  unity  as  a  fundamental 
category,  we  agree  with  Russell  in  denying  the  sufficiency  of 


252  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

the  notions  of  individual  and  quality  for  the  description  of 
reality.  Yet  this  does  not  imply  that  we  regard  the  notion 
of  relation  as  unanalyzable.  Unity  is  irreducible,  but  not 
relation.  Relation  is  a  complex  concept  susceptible  of  just 
the  analysis  which  we  are  giving  of  it.  The  reality  of  unity 
I  take  to  be  unmistakable  for  two  reasons:  the  failure  to 
dispense  with  it  in  any  attempt  to  describe  reality  —  a 
failure  which  we  have,  I  hope,  abundantly  proved ;  and  the 
immediate  evidence  which  experience  itself  offers  of  its  pres- 
ence. I  find,  for  example,  the  unity  of  intensity  and  hue  in 
any  color,  or  the  unity  of  various  extents  of  space  in  a 
larger  whole  of  space,  just  as  surely  as  I  find  these  extents 
or  qualities  themselves. 

A  further  fact  which  is  involved  in  the  existence  of  rela- 
tions is  this :  wherever  there  is  a  relation  there  is  an  individ- 
ual of  higher  order  of  which  they  are  members.  Consider 
ARB.  The  situation  not  only  involves  the  possession  by  A 
and  B  of  certain  properties,  called  by  us  relative  properties, 
and  the  unity  of  A  and  B,  but  also  the  existence  of  an  in- 
dividual of  higher  order,  which  is  neither  A  nor  B,  but  the 
couple,  the  order  which  they  form  through  their  unity.  This 
new  individual  possesses  properties  which  neither  of  its 
members  can  claim  as  its  own  —  it  is  a  couple,  an  order,  with 
sense  or  direction.  Consider  some  other  illustrations.  Take 
a  line  in  space.  The  elements  of  the  line  have  relations  of 
distance  and  order;  together  they  constitute  a  new  individ- 
ual, the  line,  with  properties  certainly  not  possessed  by  any 
point  —  it  is  dense,  continuous  and  of  such  and  such  a  length. 
Or  consider  a  family:  it  has  a  social  status  not  possessed  by 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  253 

its  individual  members.  An  army  has  a  strength  and  array 
which  is  not  possessed  by  any  single  man.  A  color  scheme 
has  a  unity  and  an  emotional  significance  which  cannot  be 
predicated  of  any  single  color.  The  converse  of  this  is,  of 
course,  also  true.  The  elements  of  the  whole  have  severally 
properties  not  possessed  by  the  whole.  The  single  colors  in 
the  picture  have  hue,  but  the  picture  has  none;  the  men  in 
the  army  are  conscious,  not  so  the  latter;  the  side  of  the  tri- 
angle has  length,  the  triangle  only  area. 

This  last  point  represents  the  modicum  of  truth  in  the 
monistic  theory.  That  theory  is,  however,  wrong  in  the  con- 
clusions which  it  draws  as  to  the  relation  of  the  individual  to 
the  whole  of  which  it  becomes  a  member  through  relation. 
The  monistic  theory  supposes  that  the  whole  completely 
determines  the  character  of  the  members.  This  view  of  the 
situation  rests  on  the  supposition  that  the  individual  is,  in 
every  case,  made  by  the  relations  into  which  it  enters.  But, 
as  we  know,  this  making  of  the  individual  by  relation  is  only 
partial  —  it  applies  only  to  the  acquired  properties  of  the 
individual,  the  original  quahties  are  not  thus  made.  And 
far  from  it  being  true  that  the  whole  completely  determines 
the  nature  of  the  individual,  it  is  rather  true  conversely  that 
the  individuals  determine  the  nature  of  the  wholes  which 
they  form.  As  we  have  seen,  you  cannot  impose  all  relations 
upon  all  individuals.  The  sort  of  relation  which  one  thing 
bears  to  another,  and  so  the  sort  of  whole  which  they  com- 
pose, flows  from  the  nature  of  the  things  themselves.  An 
appeal  to  illustrations  makes  this  convincing.  Social  rela- 
tions have  their  bases  in  the  instincts  and  mental  faculties  of 


254  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

individuals.  Of  course  it  is  true  that  relationships  once 
established  modify  instinct  and  mental  faculty.  I  do  not 
mean  to  argue  that  individuals  are  ever  isolated,  ever  free 
from  allegiance  to  some  whole.  What  I  am  contending  for 
is  this:  when  we  watch  the  genesis  of  new  relations,  of  larger 
individuahties  —  and  the  world  process  consists  very  largely 
of  just  this  —  we  perceive  that  they  are  established  from 
below  in  the  first  instance,  that  they  grow  out  of  the  natures 
of  the  elements  which  are  to  compose  them.  To  be  sure,  as 
the  relation  becomes  established,  the  individuals  undergo 
modification,  and  they  have  already  owed  part  of  their 
natures  to  the  wholes  of  which  they  were  members;  for 
every  new  whole  grows  out  of  the  bosom  of  some  old  whole; 
but  the  new  whole  does  not  pre-exist  to  its  members,  deter- 
mining them;  rather  they,  with  the  spirit  of  adventure  upon 
them,  go  forth  to  create  it,  which  only  then  comes  into 
being.  A  study  of  the  more  abstract  relations  confirms  this 
view.  Equahty  of  size  changes  to  inequahty  through  the 
expansion  or  contraction  of  either  one  of  the  quanta  so 
related.  The  new  relation  grows  from  within,  springing 
from  the  nature  of  the  terms  of  the  old  relation,  it  does 
not  grow  from  without,  imposed  by  the  new  one.  Just  so, 
likeness  may  become  unlikeness,  and  vice  versa. 

That  the  whole  cannot  tyrannize  over  the  parts  Russell 
has  conclusively  proved  from  the  nature  of  asymmetrical 
relations.  Suppose  we  consider  the  simplest  case  of  asymme- 
try, when  the  relation  is  dyadic,  as  in  our  illustration,  A 
precedes  B.  Then,  in  accordance  with  our  interpretation  of 
relation  as  we  have  so  far  developed  it,  there  must  exist  a 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS        255 

whole  formed  by  the  related  elements,  possessed  of  a  char- 
acter of  its  own,  and  each  of  the  elements  must  possess 
acquired  as  well  as  original  characters.  The  whole,  to  use 
the  language  of  Frege,  is  a  "couple  with  sense."  But  how 
can  you  determine  its  sense  or  direction  ?  Not  by  a  mere 
regard  of  the  whole  AB;  for  this  whole,  as  whole,  is  per- 
fectly symmetrical  with  reference  to  A  and  B;  whether 
ARB  or  BRA  is  entirely  indeterminate.  Only  when,  as  we 
have  seen,  you  take  some  one  element  in  the  whole  as 
starting  point  or  base  and  regard  both  from  its  point  of 
view,  going  from  the  one  to  the  other,  can  the  asymmetry  be 
determined.  Hence  the  sense  of  the  couple,  its  nature  so  far 
at  least  as  this  character  is  concerned,  is  dependent  on  the 
parts.  And  that  the  choice  of  a  base  is  not  arbitrary,  and 
so  not  without  clear  metaphysical  significance,  is  proved 
by  the  cases  of  irreversible  asymmetry.  Temporal  and  tele- 
ological  relations  —  among  the  most  significant  of  all  — 
are  the  most  striking  instances.  You  may  survey  the  time 
sequence  forwards  or  backwards,  but  you  cannot  grow 
either  way.  You  may  look  back  from  the  goal  to  the  plan, 
but  you  cannot  act  in  that  way  according  to  your  choice; 
your  choice  is  determined  for  you  by  the  nature  of  things. 
Even  if  the  choice  of  a  base  were  always  arbitrary,  the 
point  for  which  we  are  contending  would  be  proved.  For 
a  world  which  left  choices  free,  which  made  arbitrary 
decisions  possible,  would  not  be  one  which  absolutely 
predetermined  everything. 

We  have  used  Russell's  argument  from  asymmetrical  rela- 
tions at  this  point  for  its  bearing  on  individuality,  but  Rus- 


256  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

sell  himself  uses  it,  as  we  have  seen,  to  refute  the  monistic 
reduction  of  relation  to  quality  of  the  whole  formed  by  the 
related  elements.  Now,  despite  the  insufficiency  of  this 
view,  it  nevertheless  possesses  the  modicum  of  truth  which 
we  have  indicated,  and  it  is  incumbent  upon  us  to  show  that 
asymmetrical  relations  offer  no  difficulties.  The  proof  con- 
sists in  demonstrating  that  the  whole  formed  of  the  related 
elements,  when  the  relation  in  question  is  asymmetrical, 
possesses  the  predicate  which  we  call  sense  or  direction,  and 
not  the  elements  taken  singly.  That  this  is  true  is  clear  from 
the  following  examples.  If  A  precedes  B,  we  have  a  couple 
with  sense,  if  notes  are  one  before  another  in  time,  they  form 
a  melody,  if  a  man  goes  from  one  point  to  another,  the  class 
of  points  over  which  he  travels  constitute  a  path  with  direc- 
tion, and  in  every  case  the  sense  or  direction  —  that  upon 
which  Russell  lays  so  much  stress  —  belongs  to  the  whole 
made  by  the  elements  and  not  to  any  one  of  them.  A  single 
element  cannot  have  direction.  It  is  of  course  true,  as  we 
have  seen  at  length,  that  the  sense  of  the  relation  is  deter- 
mined by  the  elements  of  the  whole;  but  this  fact  does  not 
dislodge  it  from  the  place  where  we  have  put  it;  for,  al- 
though its  nature  is  determined  by  the  elements,  it  is  none 
the  less,  after  it  has  been  constituted,  a  character  of  the 
whole  and  not  of  the  elements.  The  direction  of  a  melody  or 
a  journey  is  determined  by  the  starting  point,  yet  does  not 
belong  to  any  one  of  the  individual  elements,  whether  first, 
last  or  intermediate,  nor  does  it  subsist  as  a  further  element 
between  them,  but  characterizes  the  whole,  the  melody,  the 
journey. 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS        257 

Every  extreme  form  of  monism,  issuing  in  the  theory  that 
individuality  is  an  illusion,  that  distinctions  are  only  artifi- 
cial, is  untenable.  The  monists  are  right  in  their  contention 
that  the  whole  is  the  first  thing  in  knowledge,  but  wrong 
when  they  go  on  to  afl&rm  as  a  consequence  of  this  that  the 
individuals  which  make  up  the  whole  are  unreal.  Sometimes 
this  contention  is  supported  on  a  priori  grounds,  sometimes 
on  grounds  more  empirical.  It  may  be  argued,^  for  example, 
that  in  proceeding  to  the  elements  of  the  whole,  singling 
them  out,  designating  them  with  names,  one  necessarily 
wrenches  them  from  the  whole  in  which  they  belong,  and  so, 
after  all,  gets  nothing  quite  real,  but  only  something  arti- 
ficially constructed.  I  cannot  see,  however,  that  this  argu- 
ment is  cogent.  It  rests  on  a  queer  way  of  interpreting 
analysis  after  the  analogy  of  dissection,  as  if  the  process  of 
thought  were  a  real  dismemberment  of  things.  Thinking  is 
not  cutting;  it  is  discovery;  and  in  discovering  the  elements 
of  a  whole,  I  leave  them  there;  I  do  not  even  think  of  them 
as  existing  apart  from  the  whole;  I  simply  become  more 
vividly  aware  of  them  in  the  whole.  Moreover,  it  is  per- 
fectly possible  to  be  aware  of  a  whole  and  of  its  elements  at 
once.  When  I  perceive  a  couple  of  stakes  in  an  order,  I  can 
be  aware  at  once  of  the  two  as  a  group  and  of  each  one  in  its 
individuahty.  And  when,  for  some  purpose,  I  become  exclu- 
sively attentive  to  the  elements  and  neglect  the  whole,  I  do 
not  effect  any  real  dismemberment  of  it;  I  do  not  take  the 
elements  out  of  it  and  so  destroy  both;  I  go  to  them,  they 
do  not  come  out  to  me.    Instead  of  supposing  that  individ- 

*  Both  Bergson  and  Bradley  afford  abundant  examples  of  this. 


258  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

uals  are  constructed  by  us,  we  ought  to  perceive  that  the 
world  presents  them  to  us.  Our  fellow  men  are  such  individ- 
uals. To  be  sure,  the  fellow  man  comes  to  us  as  living  and 
breathing  in  the  larger  whole  of  nature  which  surrounds  and 
supports  him;  yet  in  that  whole  he  stands  out  as  a  true 
unity,  a  real  individual. 

The  fact  that  everything  of  which  we  have  experience  is 
not  only  itself  a  whole  of  lesser  elements,  but  also  a  member 
of  a  larger  whole,  itself  possessed  of  the  same  formal  struc- 
ture, proves  only  that  this  too  is  an  individual,  an  individual 
not  of  lower,  but  of  higher  order.  In  the  end  we  never  find 
anything  else  in  nature  except  individuals.  The  fact  that  all 
the  individuals  we  find  are  members  of  individuals  of  higher 
order  and  contain  individuals  of  lower  order  does  not  prove 
the  unreahty  of  individuality;  but  simply  its  omnipresence. 
Nevertheless,  I  imagine  that  just  this  involution  of  individ- 
uals one  in  another  has  led  to  the  fallacy  which  we  are 
exposing.  A  world  which  is  nothing  except  a  system  of 
individuals  may  seem  not  to  possess  any  individuals  at  all; 
being  omnipresent  like  the  atmosphere,  they  may  seem  to 
be  non-existent. 

In  concluding  this  discussion  I  wish  to  examine  certain 
objections  to  our  account  of  relations,  and  other  difficulties, 
which  it  may  be  held  to  share  with  the  doctrines  rejected. 

First,  if  relations  have  no  more  of  independent  reality 
than  we  have  ascribed  to  them,  and  if  wholes  are  determined 
through  elements,  how  does  it  happen,  one  might  ask,  that 
the  same  individuals  can  create  different  wholes  ?  It  would 
seem  as  if,  in  order  to  explain  this  difference,  one  would  be 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  259 

compelled  to  have  recourse  to  arrangement,  plan,  order  — 
to  relation,  in  short  —  as  an  independent  factor.  Out  of  the 
same  blocks,  according  to  the  relations  in  which  he  disposes 
them,  a  child  can  build  many  different  houses.  Of  them- 
selves, it  would  seem,  elements  cannot  form  wholes;  but  out 
of  even  a  very  few  elements,  by  means  of  different  relations, 
numberless  various  compositions  can  be  evolved.  In  all 
building,  in  addition  to  materials,  I  need  a  form  or  plan. 

To  this  the  reply  is  as  follows:  Although  new  wholes  are 
usually  made  after  the  pattern  of  old  ones,  this  does  not 
imply  that  the  patterns  of  the  old  are  efficient  as  independ- 
ent facts  in  the  making  of  the  new.  The  form  is  effective  in 
shaping  the  material  only  through  the  artist  in  whom  the 
architectural  conception  exists;  in  itself,  the  form  is  power- 
less. When  new  wholes  spring  from  old  ones,  they  depend  for 
their  nature  on  the  relational  characters  of  the  latter,  as 
when  a  child  grows  from  its  parents'  bodies;  but  the  form  is 
effective  only  as  a  property  of  these  complex  individuals. 
Moreover,  the  fact  that  one  can  make  different  wholes  out 
of  the  same  individuals  by  ordering  them  dift'erently  does 
not  imply  any  more  ultimate  reaHty  in  order  than  we  have 
ascribed  to  it.  For  identical  elements  cannot  in  themselves 
create  different  wholes.  By  themselves,  for  example,  the 
blocks  cannot  assume  various  patterns;  they  can  only  take 
on  the  one  which  is  in  the  mind  of  the  child.  We  had  for- 
gotten the  child  as  a  factor  in  the  creative  process.  And 
when  the  child  makes  another  pattern,  he  is  not  exactly  the 
same  as  he  was  before;  for  he  is  at  least  so  far  different  as  to 
have  a  different  plan.  When  we  think  of  the  blocks  as  falling 


26o  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

of  themselves  into  any  pattern  we  forget  their  actual  physi- 
cal constitution  and  relations.  Materials  are  indifferent  to 
various  forms  in  the  sense  that  they  can  assume  different 
forms  under  different  conditions;  but  the  conditions  are  of 
the  utmost  importance.  Two  artists  can  make  different 
shapes  out  of  the  same  clay,  but  the  clay  cannot  of  itself 
assume  different  shapes.  The  relation,  the  plan,  is  a  factor 
in  the  making  of  new  wholes,  not  however  as  an  independent 
existence,  but  only  as  a  character  of  another  pre-existing 
whole.   The  Aristotelian  statement  of  the  situation  is  final. 

Wholes,  we  conclude,  spring  from  the  elements  which 
compose  them;  the  character  of  the  wholes,  the  relations 
into  which  the  elements  are  to  fall,  is  determined  by  the 
nature  of  the  elements  themselves,  always,  however,  after 
the  pattern  of  some  old  whole  to  which  the  elements  belong. 
Familiar  illustrations  of  new  relations,  that  is,  of  new  wholes, 
springing  from  the  elements  which  are  to  compose  them  are 
the  marriage,  business  organizations,  societies  and  clubs  of 
human  individuals.  The  relations  involved  in  all  these  cases 
are  not  metaphysically  independent  entities;  for  the  individ- 
uals which  enter  into  the  new  wholes  and  the  old  ones  which 
supply  the  type  are  the  sufficient  agents  in  the  process  of 
formation. 

Second,  there  is  the  difficulty  involved  in  the  distinction 
which  we  have  made  between  the  original  and  relative  quali- 
ties of  an  individual.  Every  individual,  we  saw,  owes  some 
of  its  qualities  to  its  union  with  other  indi\aduals;  yet  not 
all;  there  are,  in  addition,  some  which  are  native  to  the 
thing  itself.    But  now,  when  we  consider  these  qualities  of 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  26 1 

individuals  are  we  not  confronted  with  the  same  problem 
over  again  ?  For  every  time,  for  example,  that  an  individual 
entered  into  a  new  relationship  it  would  acquire  a  new 
quality,  which  would  therefore  enter  into  relation  with  those 
already  possessed  by  the  thing.  The  problem  of  relation 
would  simply  be  shifted  from  between  individuals  to  be- 
tween qualities  within  each  individual,  and  there  the  same 
distinction  would  have  to  be  drawn  over  again  between  an 
original  and  an  acquired  aspect  of  the  quahties  in  question; 
for  by  being  brought  into  relation  with  each  other  the  quali- 
ties would  undergo  mutual  modification.  Since  everything 
exists  both  on  account  of  itself  and  on  account  of  other 
things,  there  would  be  a  part  of  the  thing  which  would 
remain  the  same  before  the  entrance  into  the  new  relation- 
ship and  another  part  which  would  be  difTerent.  Call  the 
one  A  and  the  other  B.  But  these  two  parts  would  be  in 
relation;  hence  they  would  modify  each  other.  Yet,  as  in 
the  case  of  the  individual,  you  could  distinguish  part  as  the 
same  and  part  as  different  —  in  ^  for  example,  C  and  D. 
But  clearly  this  would  involve  once  more  the  same  problem 
of  the  relation  between  the  original  and  the  acquired,  only 
this  time  within  a  quality  of  the  individual.  Again  the  prob- 
lem is  shifted  —  from  between  individuals  to  between  quali- 
ties, then  within  the  single  qualities.  Obviously  an  infinite 
regress  is  commencing,  and  our  individual,  which  seemed 
simple  enough  at  first,  is  becoming  infinitely  complex. 

Royce  here,^  as  in  a  previous  case,  accepts  the  infinite 
regress  as  harmless  and  the  infinite  complexity  of  each 

^  The  World  and  the  Individual.    Supplementary  Essay.    See  page  227. 


262  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

individual  as  no  more  than  just  the  truth  about  the  con- 
stitution of  everything.  The  regress  arises,  he  says,  in  the 
attempt  to  determine  the  self  identity  or  uniqueness  or  in- 
dividuality of  a  thing  in  contradistinction  from  that  aspect 
of  its  nature  which  it  owns  as  a  result  of  its  relations.  We 
have  been  seeking  to  get  the  individuality  pure;  but,  as  a 
fact,  it  is  never  pure.  The  original  and  the  acquired  are 
always  intertwined.  The  purely  original  is  a  limit  in  the 
mathematical  sense,  to  which  we  may  approach  indefinitely 
by  an  endless  process  of  making  distinctions  between  what  a 
thing  is  as  an  individual  and  what  it  is  as  related,  but  which 
we  can  never  reach.  This  solution  of  the  difficulty,  although 
it  contains  a  certain  amount  of  truth,  as  we  shall  see  directly, 
is  nevertheless  subject  to  the  same  defect  as  that  which 
affected  Russell's  dealing  with  the  problem  of  the  infinity  of 
relations  between  an  individual  and  its  relations  to  other 
things  —  it  accepts  as  real  a  complexity  in  the  individual  far 
beyond  anything  given  in  our  experience. 

A  similar  difficulty  arises  when  we  consider  any  whole 
formed  through  the  union  of  individuals.  Wherever  there 
are  relations  between  individuals,  we  have  seen,  there  is  a 
whole  which  possesses  properties  not  possessed  by  any  of  its 
elements.  But  what  of  these  properties  ?  Since  they  all 
belong  to  a  certain  whole,  it  would  seem  as  if  they  must  be 
united  in  that  whole,  and  there  be  subject  to  manifold  rela- 
tions between  each  other.  And  among  these  related  proper- 
ties, the  same  distinction  would  have  to  be  drawn  between 
what  they  are  in  themselves  and  what  they  are  through 
their  relations  to  each  other,  and  the  same  apparent  problem 
of  the  infinite  met. 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  263 

The  solution  of  the  difficulty  is,  I  think,  within  our  reach. 
The  difficulty  arose  from  the  effort  to  separate  out  the 
original  and  the  acquired  properties  of  related  things,  or 
what  comes  to  the  same,  to  mark  off  the  identity  from  the 
difference  in  things  which  change  and  acquire  new  relation- 
ships. But  you  cannot  make  this  separation;  for  the  two 
interpenetrate,  and  the  give  and  take  between  them  is  again 
not  of  something  which  exists  alongside  of  each,  but  is  just 
the  very  nature  of  each. 

For  example,  consider  the  illustration  which  we  have 
already  used.  Through  some  new  relation  to  the  pubUc,  a 
man's  thought  of  himself  becomes  tinged  with  pride.  His 
thought  of  himself  becomes  a  proud  thought.  We  can  now 
distinguish,  if  we  will,  the  two  aspects  in  his  new  state  of 
mind  —  that  of  pride  and  that  of  thought;  and  it  is  true 
that  the  pride  and  the  thought  are  united  with  one  another, 
and  that  there  is  a  mutual  influence  of  one  on  the  other. 
But  this  union  does  not  involve  a  new  complexity  and  a  new 
problem  of  relation.  The  thought  in  relation  to  pride  be- 
comes a  new  quality,  a  richer  quality;  but  what  it  takes  on 
is  not  something  other  than  itself  and  other  than  pride;  it 
becomes  a  proud  thought;  and  the  pride  does  not  acquire 
something  different  from  thought;  it  becomes  simply  pride 
of  this  thought.  When,  as  happens  here,  and  generally 
whenever  the  qualities  of  things  are  modified  through  rela- 
tion to  other  things,  the  mutual  modification  consists  in 
each  quality  taking  on  the  nature  of  the  other;  there  is  no 
new  complexity  of  relationship  developed  in  each,  but  a 
simple  fusion  of  the  two  into  a  total  quality.    The  infinite 


264  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

regress,  of  which  Bradley  makes  so  much,  develops  through 
the  supposition  that  when  an  element  is  modified  through 
relationship  you  can  find  one  part  which  remains  the  same 
despite  the  relation  and  another  part  which  is  the  increment 
of  difference  created  through  this  relationship.  The  man  is 
the  same  as  he  was  before  the  new  honor,  and  of  course  he  is 
also  different,  so  you  want  to  separate  the  sameness  from  the 
difference.  You  want  to  find  the  thought  as  it  was  origiaally, 
and  then,  alongside  of  it,  the  difference  which  was  made  to  it 
through  its  relation  to  pride.  But,  I  say,  the  thought  is  the 
same  in  being  thought  and  different  in  being  proud  thought. 
And  if  you  persist  and  ask.  Is  there  not  in  the  thought  itself 
some  part  which  is  just  thought  and  some  other  part  which 
is  the  ingredient  of  pride  ?  I  answer,  There  is  none;  there 
is  not  the  slightest  part  of  the  thought  which  is  not  per- 
meated with  pride;  there  is  no  part  which  is  not  at  once  the 
same  and  different.  It  is  impossible  to  separate  the  sameness 
from  the  difference,  to  get  the  sameness  pure  and  the 
difference  pure. 

The  principle  just  employed  to  solve  the  problem  of  the 
relation  between  the  qualities  of  related  individuals  serves 
to  solve  the  similar  problem  of  the  relation  of  the  qualities 
of  the  whole  formed  by  these  individuals.  For  there,  too,  the 
qualities  come  into  relation  with  and  modify  one  another. 
But  the  interrelation  of  qualities  of  a  whole  involves  the 
same  type  of  unity  as  the  interrelation  of  qualities  of  an 
individual  in  the  whole.  There  also  the  qualities  modify  one 
another,  but  through  participation,  not  through  a  creation 
of  new  qualities,  so  that  no  further  complexity  is  involved, 
least  of  all  an  infinite  regress. 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  265 

The  recognition  of  interpenetration  as  a  special  type  of 
unity  throws  much  light  upon  the  definition  of  the  individ- 
ual and  its  distinction  from  quality.  An  individual  is  usually 
defined  as  something  which  can  exist  by  itself.  But  since  it 
is  impossible  wholly  to  isolate  anything,  we  should  never 
know,  if  this  definition  were  true,  whether  anything  were  an 
individual  or  not.  Moreover,  since  individuals  derive  their 
relative  characters  from  other  individuals,  the  statement 
cannot  be  exact.  We  cannot  take  the  individual  out  of  the 
universe,  and  so  we  cannot  define  it  as  if  we  could.  However, 
starting  with  the  given  whole,  we  may  define  the  individual 
as  something  which  can  be  found  separate  from  the  rest  of 
the  whole.  This  does  not  mean  that  the  individual  could 
exist  out  of  the  whole,  but  that  one  does  not  find  the  whole 
or  any  other  part  of  the  whole  when  one  finds  a  given 
individual.  For  example,  I  can  find  the  panel  of  the  door 
without  finding  the  knob,  although  both  belong  to  the  one 
whole  of  space.  It  might  seem  as  if  there  were  a  limit  to 
this;  for  the  relative  characters  of  an  individual  cannot  be 
known  without  a  knowledge  of  other  individuals  with  which 
the  former  stands  in  relation.  I  cannot  know  that  A  is 
greater  than  B,  unless  I  know  B  as  well  as  A.  Yet  this  is 
really  no  objection ;  for  the  knowledge  of  B  is  not  a  finding 
of  ^  in  jB,  but  an  inference  from  the  relative  characters  of 
A  to  the  correlative  characters  of  B.  An  individual,  then,  is 
not  something  which  could  exist  by  itself  apart  from  the 
whole,  but  something  which  can  be  found  separate  from 
other  elements  in  the  whole,  and  does  not  derive  all  its 
characters  from  them. 


266  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

Next,  what  is  the  dej5nition  of  quality  in  distinction  from 
individual  ?  There  are  two  things  to  consider  here  —  the 
qualities  of  individuals  and  the  qualities  of  the  wholes  in 
which  individuals  exist.  An  individual  is  a  union  of  quali- 
ties. The  Aristotelian  tradition  has  it  that  an  individual  is 
something  besides  its  qualities,  their  subject  or  bearer,  but 
this  entity  is  certainly  not  empirical  or  real.  The  qualities  in 
their  unity  are  the  thing  which  owns  any  one  of  them  and  to 
which  any  one  of  them  may  be  attributed.  The  notion  of 
subject  served  two  purposes :  it  made  possible  the  identity 
or  persistence  of  the  individual  despite  change;  it  serv^ed  to 
distinguish  the  individual  from  the  universal.  How  identity 
and  difference,  permanence  and  change  can  be  conceived  as 
co-existing  in  the  thing  without  the  notion  of  a  substrate,  we 
have  already  discovered  in  our  studies  of  time  and  the  self. 
The  need  of  the  subject  to  provide  for  the  uniqueness  of  the 
thing  sprang,  I  think,  from  a  misconception  of  qualities 
rooted  in  the  pla tonic  philosophy.  Qualities  were  thought 
of  as  imiversals;  hence,  since  the  individual  is  a  unity  of 
qualities,  it  too,  without  something  to  guarantee  its  partic- 
ularity, would  have  become  a  universal,  an  idea.  But  the 
qualities  of  things  must  not  be  confounded  with  the  abstract 
ideas  or  concepts  used  in  the  description  of  things.  The  blue 
which  I  see  in  the  sky  is  a  concrete  quale,  not  the  universal 
blueness.  Qualities  do  not  have  to  be  made  unique  through 
attachment  to  a  subject;  they  are  given  each  unique. 
Everything  which  can  be  distinguished  in  the  existing  world 
is  already  unique  and  individual  in  the  sense  of  not  being 
universal. 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  267 

But,  if  this  is  true,  why  not  say  that  an  individual  is  a 
quality  and  that  a  quality  is  an  individual  ?  Individuals  can 
unite  into  individuals  of  higher  order  —  are  not  qualities  in 
exactly  the  same  case  —  what  we  call  an  individual  being 
really  a  complex  individual  composed  of  lesser  individuals, 
qualia?  The  difference  is  this :  the  quahties  of  an  individ- 
ual are  all  involved  in  one  another,  and  it  is  impossible  for 
any  one  of  them  to  exist  separate  from  the  rest,  that  is, 
separate  from  the  thing  of  which,  we  say,  it  is  a  quaHty.  For 
example,  a  bit  of  blue  in  the  sky  is  an  individual;  for  when 
you  find  it,  you  do  not  find  that  other  bit  of  sky  to  the  right, 
which  is  also  an  individual  in  the  same  whole  of  space ;  the 
two  are  united,  yet  they  are  not  involved  in  one  another. 
But  the  hue  and  the  intensity  of  the  first  bit  of  sky  are  not 
individuals;  for  you  cannot  find  the  one  separate  from  the 
other;  they  are  fused,  intertwined.  And  whereas  individ- 
uals —  quahties  in  their  fusion  —  can  exist  when  other 
individuals  in  the  same  whole  disintegrate  and  the  whole  is 
broken  up;  no  single  quaUty  can  exist  by  itself  apart  from 
others,  that  is,  apart  from  the  individual.  You  cannot 
find,  for  example,  the  intensity  of  the  blue  by  itself  unfused 
with  hue  and  spreadoutness. 

The  distinction  between  quality  and  individual  depends 
therefore  upon  the  distinction  between  two  types  of  unity : 
one,  in  which  the  things  united  are  fused  in  one  another; 
the  other,  in  which  the  united  elements  retain  their  separate 
existence.  The  one  is  the  type  of  union  of  quahties;  the 
other  is  the  type  of  union  of  individuals.  Qualities  unite 
and  form  individuals  and  are  lost  in  one  another;  individuals 


268  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

unite  and  form  wholes  and  are  outside  of  one  another.  A 
quality  in  its  union  with  another  quality  in  the  thing  takes 
on  the  other  quality  as  its  own;  but  an  individual  in  its 
union  with  another  in  an  individual  of  higher  order,  al- 
though modified  by  that  other,  does  not  assimilate  its 
characteristics.  Thus,  when  a  man  and  woman  marry,  each 
is  modified  by  the  relationship;  yet  this  does  not  involve 
the  feminization  of  the  man  and  the  virilizing  of  the  woman ; 
the  modification  consists  rather  in  making  the  one  more 
masculine  and  the  other  more  feminine.  It  involves  adjust- 
ment to  one  another,  not  fusion  of  one  another.  Within  the 
individual,  however,  the  union  of  qualities  involves  a  taking 
on  by  the  one  of  the  other  —  the  blue  becomes  extended,  the 
extensity  becomes  a  blue  extensity. 

Failure  to  distinguish  these  two  types  of  unity,  or,  what 
comes  to  the  same,  failure  to  distinguish  qualities  from 
individuals,  is  characteristic  of  all  mystical  types  of  monism. 
For  there  individuals  are  reduced  to  qualities  of  the  whole 
which  they  form  through  relation;  whence  it  follows  that 
they  must  participate  in  one  another  just  as  the  qualities  of 
an  individual  do.  Since  all  things  are  related  to  all  things, 
the  result  is  the  doctrine  of  universal  compenetration  — 
each  in  all  and  all  in  each.  The  clearest  evidence  against 
this  view,  as  we  have  already  seen,  is  afiforded  by  asymmet- 
rical relations.  For  there  the  adjustment  to  one  another 
which  follows  upon  the  relation  of  the  terms  to  one  another 
is  specifically  not  the  acquirement  of  anything  which  would 
eliminate  difference  and  distinction,  but  the  reverse;  for 
example,  one  becomes  a  predecessor,  the  other  a  successor, 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  269 

one  a  father,  the  other  a  son.  There  is  a  greater  differentia- 
tion between  father  and  son  than  between  the  former  and 
another  boy  to  whom  he  is  not  related.  A  man  in  his  rela- 
tion to  his  wife  is  a  far  more  highly  differentiated  creature 
than  he  is  in  his  simpler  relations  to  other  women.  Relation 
is  therefore  not  so  much  a  source  of  identity  as  of  difference, 
of  richness.  Another  clear  case  of  union  without  interfusion 
is  that  of  the  parts  of  space  into  larger  wholes  of  space. 
Here  the  whole  is  indubitable;  yet  the  parts  are  not  fused 
in  one  another;  for  each  can  be  found  separate.  Moreover, 
the  sort  of  relation  and  wholeness  which  they  possess  de- 
mands this  very  separation.  Even  contiguous  elements  do 
not  have  towards  each  other  the  type  of  relation  possessed 
by  qualities  of  an  individual,  such  as  have,  for  example,  the 
hue  and  intensity  of  a  color.  If  they  had,  since  all  elements 
in  space  are  mediately  in  contact  with  any  one  of  them, 
they  would  all  flow  together  into  one  —  would  all  reduce  to 
a  single  point.  Here  the  union,  along  with  the  preservation 
of  the  distinctness  of  the  individuals  united,  is  a  plain  fact 
of  observation. 

The  recognition  of  unity  as  an  indispensable  aspect  of  the 
meaning  of  relation,  together  with  the  recognition  of  two 
kinds  of  unity,  solves  the  third  and  last  of  the  problems 
which  we  confronted  on  the  way  to  the  development  of  our 
own  view.^  The  problem  was  one  which  monism  had  to 
face,  but  there  are  certain  elements  of  it  which  exist  for  us 
also.  They  are  as  follows:  Take  any  case  of  relationship 
between  A  and  B,  which  we  symbolize  by AR£.  This  means, 

1  See  above,  pages  237-241. 


270  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

in  terms  of  our  interpretation,  that  A  and  B  exist  each  with 
its  original  and  acquired  characters,  and  that  also  some 
whole  exists,  which  we  designate  as  AB.  But  now,  since  A 
and  B  are  elements  in  this  whole,  there  must  be  a  relation 
between  each  one  of  them  and  it,  in  addition  to  their  rela- 
tion to  each  other.  The  existence  of  this  new  relation  in- 
volves, of  course,  the  existence  of  another  property  of  AB, 
and  also  further  relational  properties  in  A  and  in  B.  The 
existence  of  these  properties  causes  us  no  difficulty;  for  they 
fuse  simply,  in  the  fashion  already  explained,  with  the  other 
properties.  But  there  was  another  difficulty  in  the  situation : 
the  choice  between  the  loss  of  the  individuality  of  the 
members  and  the  separation  of  them  from  the  whole.  The 
first,  as  we  saw,  was  impossible,  owing  to  the  asymmetry  of 
the  relation  of  membership  in  a  whole,  which  is  impossible 
without  the  individuality  of  the  parties  to  the  relationship, 
and  the  second  is  obviously  impossible.  Now,  despite  the 
fact  that,  with  monism,  we  recognize  the  existence  of  the 
whole  AB,we  are  saved  from  the  former  alternative  through 
our  equal  recognition  of  the  individuality  of  A  and  B,  and 
from  the  latter  alternative,  through  our  insistence  on  the 
unity  of  A  and  B  and  of  each  with  AB.  The  relation  of  A  to 
AB  does  not  reduce  to  a  mere  quality  of  ^-S,  because  the 
relation  involves  the  distinctive  existence  of  A ;  and,  since 
unity  is  an  indispensable  aspect  of  the  meaning  of  being 
related,  A  does  not  fall  outside  of  AB,  for,  in  being  united 
with  both  B  and  AB,  it  necessarily  falls  within  the  whole 
AB.  Moreover,  keeping  in  mind  the  two  kinds  of  union 
which  we  have  come  to  recognize,  we  see  that,  although  the 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  27 1 

relational  properties  accruing  to  the  whole  through  their 
relations  with  their  members  are  lost  in  one  another,  A  and 
B  are  not  lost  in  the  whole,  because  both  they  and  the  whole 
are  individuals,  and  hence  united  with  one  another  in  a 
different  fashion  *—  externally  and  by  contact,  not  by  fusion. 
We  may  summarize  the  results  of  this  chapter  as  follows : 

1.  A  relation  cannot  be  reduced  to  its  terms;  yet  no  rela- 
tions can  exist  without  terms  and  no  unrelated  individuals 
exist. 

2.  Relation  implies  union  of  the  individuals  between 
which  it  holds  in  a  whole  or  individual  of  higher  order.  The 
unity  of  individuals  implied  by  relation  is  ultimate  and 
irreducible. 

3.  Individuals  as  members  of  wholes  —  as  terms  in  rela- 
tion —  acquire  certain  characters  which  are  lost  when  the 
wholes  in  question  are  broken  up.  These  characters  we 
have  called  acquired  or  relative. 

4.  In  addition  to  these  characters,  each  term  possesses 
others,  called  by  us  original  or  native,  which  do  not  depend 
upon  the  wholes  into  which  it  enters. 

5.  The  nature  of  the  wholes  into  which  an  individual 
enters  —  or  the  nature  of  the  relation  which  unites  it  with 
other  individuals,  the  direction  or  sense  of  the  relation  in 
particular  and  the  consequent  position  of  the  individual  in 
the  whole,  are  determined  by  the  original  natures  of  the 
individuals  concerned. 

6.  In  any  individual  the  original  and  the  acquired  char- 
acters are  distinguishable  in  thought,  but  in  reaUty  fused. 
The  element  is  at  once  individual  and  relative  —  the  "  re- 


272  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

spects  "  can  be  distinguished,  but  neither  is  a  substance 
existing  separate. 

7.  The  acquirement  of  a  new  relation  by  an  individual 
involves  a  new  aspect,  yet  despite  this  change,  the  individual 
retains  identity.  It  is  at  once  the  same  and  different.  Here 
again  the  aspects  can  be  distinguished  —  how  the  individual 
is  the  same  and  how  different;  but  there  is  no  item,  no  stuff 
or  substance  or  part,  which  is  not  at  once  the  same  and 
different. 

8.  There  are  two  types  of  unity:  fusion,  the  unity  of 
qualities,  original  and  acquired,  which  make  up  an  individ- 
ual; and  external  unity  or  contact  between  individuals  in  an 
individual  of  higher  order.  In  the  one  case,  the  related 
elements  interpenetrate  and  are  lost  in  one  another;  in  the 
other  case,  they  remain  distinct  from  one  another. 

The  distinction  between  ideal  and  real  relations  offers  no 
difficulties;  for  our  theory  applies  equally  well  to  both. 
Ideal  relations  are  those  which  exist  between  real  things 
only  when  some  mind  knows  them,  or  they  are  relations 
which  exist  between  purely  ideal  entities,  Uke  numbers  or 
other  concepts.  For  example,  the  relation  of  likeness  be- 
tween two  observed  sense  elements  is  an  ideal  relation  of  the 
former  type;  the  relation  of  successor  of  between  Two  and 
One  is  an  ideal  relation  of  the  latter  type.  It  is  clear  that 
the  likeness  of  two  sense  data  is  not  itself  a  sense  datum 
or  a  physical  fact  in  any  meaning,  and  it  is  equally  clear 
that  it  exists  only  through  the  act  of  comparing  the  things 
which  we  subsequently  call  like.  Now  when  we  compare 
sense  data  the  resulting  relation  involves  all  the  elements 


THE  THEORY  OF  RELATIONS  273 

of  our  analysis:  the  total  quality  of  each  datum  is  affected 
by  the  comparison,  the  data  are  united  through  this  act  of 
the  mind  and,  in  that  act,  they  form  a  new  whole  with  its 
own  properties.  Of  course,  where  we  do  not  actually  have  in 
mind  the  things  compared  —  as  when,  for  example,  we 
compare  the  size  of  two  cities  —  the  ideal  relation  exists, 
not  between  the  real  things  compared,  but  between  our 
concepts  of  them;  and  our  interpretation  applies  there: 
each  concept  is  enriched  through  the  comparison  and  both 
are  united  into  a  larger  total  meaning.  Finally,  in  the  case 
where  the  relations  hold  between  things  which  are  them- 
selves ideal,  both  the  ideal  things  and  the  relations  between 
them  exist  only  through  the  mind;  hence  the  situation  is 
the  same.  Yet,  even  in  this  case,  and  generally,  ideal 
relations  are  not  wholly  subjective.  For,  although  they 
exist  only  through  the  mental  act  of  comparison,  it  is  the 
native  characters  of  the  things  compared,  either  directly  or 
through  their  conceptual  representatives,  which  initiate  the 
comparison,  and  these  are  objective. 


CHAPTER   X 

THE   UNITY  OF   MINDS 

IN  our  chapter  on  Relations  we  studied  the  more  abstract 
aspects  of  the  relations  of  one  mind  to  another  and  to 
nature  at  large;  in  this  chapter,  using  all  the  results  which 
we  have  won  so  far,  we  shall  try  to  sketch  a  concrete  theory 
of  these  relations.  How  shall  we  conceive  of  the  unity  of  our 
world:  as  the  ideal  unity  of  a  multitude  of  individuals, 
like  a  constellation  of  stars,  or  as  a  real  unity,  like  the  com- 
position of  colors  in  a  painting,  where  each  patch  is  contiguous 
with  its  neighbor  in  a  single  whole  ?  This  is  the  problem  ex- 
pressed in  the  alternative  —  monism  or  pluralism  ? 

That  each  mind  is  a  little  world,  distinct  from  other  human 
minds,  is  a  commonplace  of  philosophical  reflection.  Al- 
though there  is  great  similarity  both  in  the  structure  and  the 
elements  of  minds,  there  are  no  elements  common  to  both. 
We  think  of  minds  in  relation  to  one  another  as  like  islands 
of  the  sea;  if  you  are  in  one  you  cannot  be  at  the  same  time 
in  another  and  there  is  no  getting  directly  from  one  to 
another.  But  despite  the  lack  of  contiguity  and  overlapping 
among  minds,  there  are  the  obvious  relations  between 
them:  one  knows  another,  one  exists  in  the  same  time- 
series  with  another  and  one  can  exert  causal  influence  upon 
another.  How  can  we  reconcile  the  separation  of  minds 
with  these  empirical  relations  between  them  of  time  and 

cause  and  knowledge  ? 

274 


THE  UNITY  OF  MINDS  275 

It  is  natural  to  suppose  that  these  relations  must  be  medi- 
ated by  the  physical  world  which  lies  somehow  "between" 
minds,  just  as  the  ocean  mediates  communication  between 
the  islands  which  dot  its  expanse.  But  most  doctrines  of 
pluralism,  especially  the  extreme  form  called  monadism, 
deny  themselves  this  avenue  of  solution.  For,  recognizing, 
as  we  do,  that  nature  is  only  experience,  monadism  conceives 
of  that  experience  either  as  falling  within  knowTi  minds 
or  else  as  composed  of  assumed  minds  equally  isolated;  and 
so,  by  interpreting  the  medium  after  the  nature  of  the 
things  to  be  mediated  by  it,  monadism  deprives  it  of  all 
mediating  power,  thus  leaving  us  with  a  larger  number  of 
separate  individuals,  with  the  relations  between  them  still 
to  interpret. 

That  monadism  is  incapable  of  interpreting  these  rela- 
tions, we  have  shown  in  the  preceding  chapter. 

And  not  only  the  relations  between  minds,  but  their 
origin  and  death  as  well,  are  difficult  for  the  monadist  to 
explain,  as  Ward  has  shown  in  his  Realm  of  Ends.  Every 
mind  that  we  know  has  an  origin  in  time  out  of  the 
bodies  of  its  parents.  Now,  if  all  reproduction  were  mono- 
sexual,  we  might  perhaps  conceive  of  a  mind  as  thrown  oflf 
by  the  parent  body,  much  as  a  sateUite  is  thrown  oflf  by  a 
planet;  it  would  spring  from  its  parent  and  yet,  having 
once  come  to  be,  would  exist  separate  from  its  source  and 
carry  on  an  independent  career.  But  such  an  interpretation 
of  the  facts  is  clearly  insufficient  in  the  case  of  bisexual 
reproduction.  For  the  new  individual  springs  from  the 
fusion  of  two  other  individuals,  which  must  first  come  into 


276  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

actual  contact  before  the  new  one  can  arise.  The  birth  of 
every  human  mind  presupposes,  therefore,  the  possibility  of 
a  substantial  bond  between  other  individuals,  which  is 
denied  by  monadism.  Moreover,  although  the  new  individ- 
ual acquires  an  existence  which  is  materially  separate  from 
its  parents,  it  always  remains  in  contact  with  the  world  of 
nature  as  a  whole,  and  in  dependence  upon  it  for  preserva- 
tion. Just  as  the  satellite  still  keeps  its  gravitational  rela- 
tions with  the  planet  and  the  rest  of  the  universe,  so  the 
mind  depends  for  sustenance  upon  the  sense  experiences 
which  flow  in  upon  it  from  nature. 

Finally,  monadism  is  incompatible  with  the  fact  that 
minds  die.  Everybody  who  accepts  the  doctrine  of  the 
unity  of  mind  and  body  must  recognize  that  even  as  the 
mind  springs  from  nature,  so  it  dissipates  back  into  nature 
again.  But  if  the  mind  is  self-subsistent,  it  is  difficult  to  see 
how  it  could  disintegrate.  Were  the  death  of  the  mind  due 
to  a  conflict  of  elements  within  it,  we  might  perhaps  con- 
ceive of  tliis  as  possible;  but  its  death  is  obviously  co- 
determined  by  external  facts.  The  somatic  forces  of  the 
body,  for  the  most  part  unrepresented  in  consciousness, 
are  the  proximate  causes  of  the  death  of  a  mind,  and  the 
indirect  cause  may  even  be  some  fact  in  another  mind. 
If  the  monadistic  world  view  is  true,  how  can  one  mind 
destroy  another?  Surely  a  mind  which  can  destroy  an- 
other must  be  connected  with  it  by  some  substantial 
root  —  both  must  be  parts  of  a  single  whole.  Consistent 
monadists,  like  Howison  and  McTaggart,  deny  that  minds 
are  ever  born  or  die. 


THE  UNITY  OF  MINDS  277 

The  inability  of  monadism  to  explain  the  relations  be- 
tween minds  and  their  origin  and  death,  is  due  to  its  theory 
of  the  mind  as  an  isolated  and  autonomous  reality.  This 
theory,  we  believe,  is  false.  Let  us  recall  some  of  the  facts 
developed  by  us  in  our  early  chapters. 

The  self  is  given  to  us,  not  isolated  and  circumscribed,  but 
in  immediate  contact  with  sense  elements  which  are  a  true 
part  of  nature.  These  sense  elements,  in  connection  with 
others  beyond  my  own  mind,  but  continuous  with  them, 
bring  me  into  indirect  touch  with  all  other  minds.  All  minds 
overlap  with  nature  and  through  nature  with  one  another. 
Although  the  ideas  which  we  have  of  another  mind  are  not 
in  contact  with  it,  they  are,  nevertheless,  mediated  by  a 
continuum  of  unbroken  reality  right  from  the  door  of  one 
mind  to  that  of  another.  Just  as  when  I  touch  this  side  of 
the  wall  I  am  in  indirect  contact  with  the  other  side  through 
connecting  and  continuous  material,  so  through  my  body 
and  the  intervening  sense  world  and  the  body  of  my  fellow 
—  all  parts  of  one  uncut  reality  —  I  am  in  indirect  contact 
with  his  mind.  Monadism  makes  the  mistake  of  interpreting 
nature  in  its  relations  to  our  minds  after  the  analogy  of  one 
mind  in  its  relations  to  another.  But  because  a  sense  ele- 
ment in  your  mind  is  not  in  mine  also,  it  does  not  follow 
that  both  are  not  together  in  the  mind  of  nature.  Just 
the  opposite,  we  claim,  is  the  case.  And  because  nature 
contains  the  sense  elements  belonging  to  both  minds,  it 
can  mediate  the  causal  and  noetic  relations  of  both.  If  we 
imderstand  the  relations  of  the  mind  to  nature  we  can  com- 
prehend the  relations  of  one  mind  to  another.  The  theory 
which  I  wish  to  present  is  as  follows. 


2/8  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

Much  of  the  content  of  the  mind  is  determined  by  the 
activities  of  the  self.  For  example,  the  muscular  sensations 
which  arise  when  I  lift  my  hand  are  the  expression  of  some 
interest  of  mine  in  this  act.  But  by  far  the  larger  part  of  the 
content  of  mind  does  not  express  my  activities.  The  visual 
panorama,  for  example,  is  created  not  by  me,  but  for  me. 
Of  course,  in  so  far  as  what  I  see  depends  upon  my  atten- 
tion, I  co-operate  in  bringing  it  into  existence;  nevertheless 
my  share  in  its  creation  is  small.  Its  dependence  on  the  eye 
is  not  dependence  on  me ;  for  I  do  not  create  my  eyes.  And 
even  when,  in  reacting  to  and  transforming  the  environ- 
ment, I  seem  to  be  most  active  in  determining  the  content 
of  the  mind,  I  am  dependent  upon  the  help  of  foreign  forces. 
When,  for  example,  seeing  a  leaf  fall,  I  stretch  out  my  hand 
to  grasp  it  or  weave  it  into  a  garland  with  other  leaves,  I 
obviously  create  sensations  in  my  own  mind,  and  in  nature's 
also,  since  it  overlaps  with  mine;  yet  even  in  this  my  own 
work  I  am  dependent  upon  the  help  of  nature.  For,  in  the 
first  place,  the  hands  which  I  use  were  made  and  are  main- 
tained by  forces  which  are  no  part  of  myself;  and,  in  the 
second  place,  I  can  have  my  way  with  the  leaves  only  in  so 
far  as  I  can  adapt  my  way  to  their  way,  my  will  to  their 
will.  All  my  acts,  and  therefore  all  the  sensations  which 
result  from  them,  depend  upon  the  co-operation,  first,  of  the 
somatic  forces  —  the,  to  me,  unconscious  forces  of  the  body 
—  and  second,  upon  the  forces  in  the  environment  of  the 
body. 

But  how  can  these  foreign  forces  affect  the  content  of  my 
mind  ?    Simply  because  they  are  attached  to  the  sense 


THE  UNITY  OF  MINDS  279 

materials  which  they  determine  in  exactly  as  immediate  a 
fashion  as  my  own  impulses  are  attached  to  the  body.  They 
play  directly  upon,  terminate  and  are  expressed  directly  in 
the  content  of  my  mind.  Of  course  I  am  not  in  contact  with 
them;  if  I  were,  they  would  be  a  part  of  my  mind  and  I 
should  understand  them  as  I  do  my  own  acts;  but  I  am  in 
contact  with  the  material  of  their  expression.  And  so,  in- 
directly at  any  rate,  through  the  sense  elements,  they  and  I 
form  a  single  whole.  The  same  sense  elements  figure  twice 
over  and  are  under  a  double  control  —  once  in  my  mind  and 
once  in  the  mind  of  nature,  which  is  at  least  two  minds,  the 
mind  of  the  body  and  the  mind  of  the  environment.  The 
sense  content  of  the  mind  has  two  parts  —  the  one,  contain- 
ing the  muscular  and  organic  sensations,  controlled  jointly 
by  the  self  and  the  unconscious  forces  of  the  body;  the 
other,  containing  the  so-called  peripheral  sensations,  which 
are  under  the  control  of  the  self  only  through  the  body  and 
the  environment. 

Sometimes  I  seem  not  to  be  in  co-operation  but  in  conflict 
with  the  will  of  nature.  Thus,  I,  a  craftsman,  may  try  to 
impose  a  form  upon  my  materials  which  they  will  not  take; 
or  I  may  sail  against  the  breeze  which,  tack  as  I  may,  will 
perhaps  overturn  my  boat;  I  may  pull  at  something  which 
will  not  budge,  or  try  to  move  a  limb  which  is  paralyzed. 

How  are  we  to  conceive  of  these  relations  of  co-operation 
or  conflict  between  the  self  and  nature  ?  Such  relations  are 
familiar  enough  within  the  self  where  they  are  immediately 
given.  Whenever  we  use  both  arms  to  draw  a  load,  we  exem- 
plify the  one  relation ;  whenever,  beginning  to  do  something, 


28o  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

we  gradually  or  suddenly  inhibit  the  action  because  of  some 
conscientious  scruple,  we  exemplify  the  other.  But  in  such 
cases  the  conflicting  or  conspiring  activities  are  grown  to- 
gether in  a  single  self;  they  touch  one  another  directly; 
while  in  the  cases  before  us  there  is  no  such  touch  of  one 
with  the  other. 

Yet,  with  the  theory  in  hand,  we  need  not  be  at  a  loss  to 
understand.  We  must  conceive  of  every  sense  element  as 
the  terminus  of  many  activities  which  are  in  immediate 
actual  or  potential  control  of  it.  These  activities  are  not  in 
direct  contact  with  one  another  as  are  the  activities  within 
a  self;  but  they  are  indirectly  connected  through  the  sense 
elements  which  are  their  common  termini.  Now  suppose 
that  one  of  the  activities  which  terminates  upon  a  sense 
element  begins  to  alter  it;  this  will  immediately  stimulate 
others  to  responses  which,  issuing  upon  the  same  datum, 
will  join  forces  with  it  in  a  common  action.  Hence  changes 
wrought  in  the  environment  of  the  organism  stimulate  it  to 
activities  which  lay  hold  of  this  same  material  and  recreate 
it  into  forms  favorable  to  survival.  The  will  of  nature, 
in  effecting  the  original  changes,  meets  the  reacting  will  of 
the  organism  in  exactly  the  same  point  of  the  world,  and  the 
upshot  of  the  interaction  is  the  resultant  of  the  forces  thus 
engaged.  Just  as  the  efforts  of  the  organism  are  directed 
towards  changes  in  a  certain  direction,  so,  we  must  suppose, 
the  intent  of  nature  is  likewise  fixed.  If  the  tendency  of 
the  organism  falls  in  with  the  will  of  nature,  the  result  must 
be  an  accelerated  change  in  the  direction  desired  by  both; 
if  it  be  in  the  contrary  direction,  the  result  must  be  some 


THE  UNITY  OF  MINDS  28 1 

sort  of  compromise  between  the  two,  depending  upon  the 
persistence,  the  strength  of  purpose  of  each. 

We  can  now  understand  the  mechanism  of  the  interaction 
between  one  self  and  another.  Suppose  I  see  a  log  of  wood. 
This  means,  of  course,  the  presence  of  visual  sense  elements 
in  my  mind.  Suppose  now  that  the  presence  of  these  ele- 
ments incites  me  to  lift  one  end  of  the  log.  This  means  the 
release  of  an  activity  which,  through  the  co-operation  of  the 
somatic  forces  governing  my  muscles,  is  directed  upon 
the  very  same  sense  elements  which  incited  it,  so  that, 
through  the  further  co-operation  of  the  will  of  nature  in  con- 
trol of  the  log,  one  end  is  raised — a  new  configuration  of  sense 
elements  is  produced.  But  now,  this  lifting  of  the  object  is 
a  process  not  only  in  my  mind,  but  in  the  mind  of  nature  also, 
and  excites  some  interest  there  to  prolong  it  in  a  larger  visual 
process  with  which  your  mind  overlaps.  Hence,  you  too  get 
visual  sensations  which  you  call  your  seeing  of  the  log; 
these,  in  turn,  release  an  activity  in  you;  you,  therefore, 
raise  the  other  end;  between  us  both,  with  the  co-operation 
of  nature,  of  course,  the  log  of  wood  is  carried  to  the  mill 
where  it  undergoes  further  changes  satisfying  other  pur- 
poses. There  has  been  no  contact  between  one  self  and 
another;  yet  there  has  been  an  interaction  —  through  the 
common  sense  world  upon  which  your  activities  and  mine 
unite  and  terminate.  The  case  might  be,  of  course,  that 
instead  of  carrying  the  log  between  us,  we  should  each  pull 
at  an  end  and  try  to  wrest  it  from  the  other ;  when  the  result 
would  depend  upon  the  persistence  of  purpose  of  each,  on 
the  one  hand,  and  on  what  we  call  the  strength  of  each,  on 


282  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

the  other,  this  strength  being  nothing  else  than  the  will 
of  the  somatic  forces  of  our  respective  bodies,  without  the 
co-operation  of  which  we  are  powerless  to  efifect  anything. 
But,  in  either  case,  of  co-operation  or  conflict  between  us, 
the  mode  of  the  interaction  is  the  same  —  an  activity  con- 
trolling a  sense  element  releases  another  activity,  which 
meets  it  and  influences  it  through  the  intermediation  of  this 
same  sense  medium. 

The  differences  between  the  interaction  of  one  empirical 
self  and  another  and  between  a  self  and  the  environment  are 
obviously  as  follows.  In  the  former  case,  since  the  sense  con- 
tent of  no  two  empirical  minds  is  the  same,  the  action  of  the 
two  activities  does  not  terminate  directly  upon  the  same  sense 
elements,  but  only  indirectly  through  the  intermediation  of 
further  connecting  sense  elements;  whereas,  between  the 
self  and  nature,  the  body  or  the  physical  environment,  there 
is  immediate  contact.  Another  difference  is  this  —  my  inter- 
action with  the  fellow  man  is  coupled  with  some  understand- 
ing of  the  purposes  which  underlie  the  changes  which  he 
effects  in  the  sense  world,  and  to  which  I  respond  with  my 
own  activities;  whereas  I  am  utterly  unable  to  interpret  the 
stimuli  which  I  receive  from  nature.  Yet  clearly,  the  proc- 
ess is  essentially  the  same  in  both  cases. 

If  the  view  which  we  have  expounded  be  correct,  the 
causal  cosmic  process  is  throughout  spiritual  and  continuous. 
The  forces  which  govern  it  are  strivings,  the  world  in  which 
they  operate  is  a  world  of  experience,  of  minds,  and  through- 
out knowledge  is  the  guide  to  action.  Every  response,  the 
blindest,  the  most  purely  instinctive,  implies  a  kind  of 


THE  UNITY  OF  MINDS  283 

knowledge  of  the  material  upon  which  it  operates  and  of  the 
mode  of  activity  of  the  forces  which  it  has  to  meet  and 
master.  Only  in  the  case  of  our  fellow  men,  and  to  a  slighter 
degree  in  the  case  of  the  lower  animals,  are  we  able  sympa- 
thetically to  understand  the  forces  at  work  in  our  world; 
yet  we  can  always  know  their  mode  of  operation ;  and  such 
knowledge  is  all  that  we  need  for  action.  Our  science  is  the 
perfection  of  such  knowledge. 

The  theory  of  interaction  which  we  have  been  advocating 
is  obviously  similar  to  that  which  Ward  expounds  so  per- 
suasively in  his  Realm  of  Ends.  We,  like  him,  conceive  of 
all  causation  as  the  response  of  one  activity  —  intelligent  in 
the  large  meaning  of  this  term  ^ — to  another.  We  claim, 
however,  this  superiority  for  our  version  of  the  doctrine: 
through  our  conception  of  the  continuity  of  the  sense  world 
and  the  overlapping,  directly  or  indirectly,  of  minds  vre 
supply  a  common  ground  and  basis  for  interaction.  We  are 
able  to  bring  together  the  manifold  forces  which,  in  his  view 
as  in  all  monadisms,  must  remain  forever  out  of  touch  with 
one  another  and  incapable  of  mutual  effect.  The  great 
unities  of  time  and  causation  become  for  us  something  more 
than  mere  ideal  frames  or  illusions.  And  the  knowledge 
which  one  mind  has  of  another  is  shown  to  be  no  accidental 
harmony,  but  the  result  of  an  indirect  contact  through 
sense  experience.  I  could  never  image  the  inner  Hfe  of  my 
fellow  if  I  did  not  hve  in  contact  with  its  expressions.  And, 
although  the  resemblance  between  idea  and  object  in  the 
purely  representative  knowledge  which  we  have  of  our  fel- 
low men,  who  are  cut  off  from  direct  contact  with  the  ideas 


284  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

through  which  this  knowledge  is  mediated,  can  never  be 
observed  and  directly  verified  by  us,  we  are  able  to  give  to 
it  an  unequivocal  interpretation.  The  ideal  relation  of  re- 
semblance, which  would  emerge  in  the  mind  if  we  could  get 
the  idea  and  the  object  there  together,  has  its  ground  and 
counterpart  in  the  real  objective  genesis  of  both  in  a  com- 
mon contiguous  world.  My  interpretations  of  the  inner  life 
of  my  fellow  grow  up  in  contact  with  its  expressions,  which 
are  themselves  in  contact  and  in  correspondence  with  the 
inner  Hfe  which  my  ideas  mean.  If  minds  are  cut  off  from 
their  objects,  it  is  impossible  to  conceive  how  knowledge 
should  grow  up  within  them;  but  if  both  are  parts  of  a 
single  whole,  we  can  understand  how  the  subjective  world 
can  be  fashioned  into  truth  about  the  objective;  how  this 
harmony  should  spring  up  between  them.  Instead  of  the 
accidental  or  unaccountably  pre-established  harmony  of 
separate  worlds,  we  have  the  self-establishing  harmony  of 
parts  of  a  single  world. 

The  origin  of  the  self  which  monadism,  as  we  have  seen, 
has  so  much  trouble  in  explaining,  can  be  understood  with- 
out difficulty  in  terms  of  our  theory.  The  self  is  an  out- 
growth of  two  bodies.  These  bodies  are,  to  be  sure,  brought 
together  by  the  selves  of  which  they  are  partially  the  expres- 
sions, but  the  new  self  which  results  is  not  bom  of  the 
substance  of  those  selves.  The  self  is  only  a  part  of  the 
system  of  the  body;  interwoven  with  it  and  supporting  it 
are  the,  for  us,  unconscious  somatic  forces.  In  mysterious 
ways,  which  we  cannot  hope  to  understand  in  detail,  the 
activity  of  these  forces,  through  the  medium  of  the  sense 


THE  UNITY  OF  MINDS  285 

world  which  is  common  to  them  and  to  us,  prolongs  itself 
into  the  mind  and  awakens  there  the  sexual  striving.   As  a 
result  of  the  union  of  elements  from  the  two  bodies  brought 
together  by  this  striving,  there  develops  a  new  body  and  a 
new  mind.    The  somatic  forces  of  the  body  —  and  by  the 
soma  I  mean  the  body  so  far  as  it  is  unconscious,  that  is, 
unrepresented  in  the  mind  —  are  a  mind  or  a  system  of 
minds.   One  set  of  elements  in  this  system  are  the  activities 
which  express  themselves  in  the  sexual  cells.   These  activi- 
ties separate  themselves  from  the  others  in  a  way  which  we 
can  perhaps  understand.    We  know  that  under  certain  cir- 
cumstances parts  of  the  self  become  split  off  from  the  rest 
and  maintain  a  separate  existence.    This  psychic  fission  is, 
we  believe,  of  the  same  type  as  cellular  fission ;  or,  to  express 
the  same  thought  in  another  way,  the  one  is  the  outer  mani- 
festation of  the  other.    Thus  the  sexual  elements  get  free  of 
the  rest  of  the  body.  In  the  act  of  fertilization  they  fuse  into 
one  whole.   Just  as  one  set  of  psychic  activities  can  become 
split  off  from  the  whole  of  which  it  was  once  a  part,  so  activi- 
ties can  unite  with  one  another  and  form  a  new  self.    In  all 
distraction  or  conflict  of  attention  we  have  the  commence- 
ment, in  the  normal  mental  life,  of  the  one  process,  and  in  all 
redintegration  of  attention,  the  analogue  of  the  other.   Thus 
is  born  a  new  body  with  its  somatic  soul  and  its  psyche,  the 
new  human  self.  The  development  and  isolation  of  the  ner- 
vous system  as  the  organ  of  mind  out  of  the  general  cyto- 
plasm must  be  conceived  of  in  the  same  fashion  as  the  release 
of  the  sexual  cells  from  the  parent  body.    The  mind  is  an 
offshoot  of  the  soma,  only  more  intimately  connected  with 


286  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

it,  just  as  the  body  is  an  offshoot  of  other  bodies.  The  new- 
body  begins  its  development  in  closest  touch  with  the 
mother  body;  then  gradually  gets  free  of  it;  but  the  mind 
never  wins  freedom  from  the  soma. 

By  means  of  this  conception  of  the  origin  of  the  self,  we 
can  understand  the  striking  facts  of  heredity.  The  new  body 
is  like  the  parent  bodies  because  it  is  their  product  — -  bone 
of  their  bone  and  flesh  of  their  flesh.  The  new  mind  is  like  the 
minds  of  the  parents  because,  although  not  an  outgrowth  of 
these  minds,  it  is  an  outgrowth  of  the  same  forces  from 
which  they  too  sprang.  And  just  as  the  form  of  the 
new  mind  is  perpetuated  through  fission  from  the  old,  so  all 
those  wonderful  harmonies  between  mind  and  body,  and 
between  parent-mind  and  child-mind,  have  their  origin  and 
continuation  ■ —  harmonies  so  unintelligible  from  the  monad- 
istic  standpoint  —  from  the  same  source. 

And  we  can  go  further  in  our  understanding;  we  can 
understand  not  only  the  origin  of  mind  but  the  origin  of  life 
itself.  All  scientific  evidence  points  to  the  origin  of  life  out 
of  the  inorganic  world.  The  vitalist  is  doubtless  right  in  his 
conviction  that  living  activities  cannot  be  reduced  to  the 
form  of  the  inorganic;  yet  the  materials  of  life  are  certainly 
inorganic  and  the  new  form  must  have  been  a  development 
of  what  we  call  the  lower  form.  Moreover,  life  never  gets 
free  of  its  dependence  on  the  lifeless  —  on  its  environment; 
apart  from  which  it  would  soon  wither  and  die.  The  proc- 
esses of  life  bear  a  relation  to  the  inorganic  world  similar  to 
that  which  the  child  bears  to  its  mother.  Just  as  the  infant 
grows  out  of  the  body  of  its  mother  and  remains  for  a  long 


THE  UNITY  OF  MINDS  287 

period  within  her,  so  the  vital  process  grew  out  of  the  inor- 
ganic and  remains  forever  dependent  upon  it. 

The  cosmic  process  is  a  hierarchy  of  rhythms.  The  lower 
is  the  parent  of  the  higher  and  its  necessary  support.  The 
fundamental  rhythm  is  that  of  the  inorganic  world.  The 
minds  expressed  in  this  world  are  the  parents  of  all  minds 
and  the  absolute  overruling  destiny.  Here  certain  plans  are 
laid  down  —  the  so-called  physical  laws  —  to  which  all  must 
conform  and  behind  which  there  is  nothing  more  ultimate 
—  the  premisses  for  all  other  forms  of  existence.  Doubtless 
even  here  there  is  going  on  a  slow  process  of  change ;  but  in 
this  region  of  reality  there  is  greater  stability  of  form  than  in 
any  other.  Imposed  upon  this  rhythm  and  sprung  from  it, 
is  the  vital  rhythm.  Here  there  is  more  rapid  change,  a 
superior  adventurousness  seemingly,  but  at  the  cost  of 
independence.  Finally,  there  is  the  human  self  —  the  last  of 
nature's  products.  And  here  we  seem  to  find  the  greatest 
originality  and  also  the  greatest  instability.  The  most  way- 
ward and  spontaneous  of  nature's  children  are  also  the  most 
delicate  and  ephemeral.  Some  stirring  of  unrest  in  the 
bosom  of  nature,  incompatible  with  its  own  way  of  existence 
and  so  incapable  of  development  there,  led  to  that  fission  of 
its  substance  whence  sprang  life  and  the  human  mind. 

After  the  problem  of  birth  we  must  briefly  consider  the 
problem  of  death.  We  have  seen  how  hopeless  it  is  for 
monadism  to  solve  this.  On  the  other  hand,  our  theory  of 
the  solidarity  of  the  cosmos  permits  us  to  do  so  without 
great  difficulty.  In  our  chapter  on  the  relation  of  soul  and 
body  we  proved  the  dependence  of  the  former  on  its  material 


• 


288  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

organs  of  expression.  Not  only  is  it  impossible  to  conceive 
of  the  existence  of  the  former  apart  from  the  latter;  it  is 
equally  impossible  to  conceive  of  the  continuance  of  one 
without  the  other.  The  two  are  a  single  integral  fact  —  the 
destruction  of  one  necessarily  entails  the  destruction  of  the 
other.  Now  these  organs  of  expression  are  subject  not  only 
to  the  mind  but  to  the  somatic  forces  of  the  body  and  the 
forces  of  the  environment  as  well.  Like  all  other  material 
facts,  they  are  the  termini  not  of  one,  but  of  manifold  activi- 
ties, and  their  form  and  integrity  is  created  and  maintained 
through  the  equilibrium  of  these.  The  death  of  the  mind  is 
the  result  of  a  conflict  between  the  body  and  powers  of  the 
environment  which  find  the  activities  of  the  organism  incom- 
patible with  their  own.  The  instinct  of  self-preservation  is 
the  endeavor  of  the  psyche  to  resist  the  forces  which  tend  to 
break  up  its  organs  of  expression.  This  resistance  is,  we 
know,  of  only  short  duration;  in  the  end,  the  form  of  the 
organism  and  the  soul,  which  is  its  entelechy,  must  submit 
wholly  to  the  control  of  the  inorganic  world.  This  world  per- 
mits the  deviation  which  we  call  life;  but  only  for  a  short 
time ;  it  soon  finds  the  continuance  of  the  organism  incom- 
patible with  its  own  interests;  jealous,  as  it  were,  of  the  use 
of  matter  for  the  new  form,  it  reabsorbs  it  to  itself  again. 
And  so,  "  all  Hfe  pays  the  penalty  in  death  for  its  existence." 
Thus,  through  the  same  theory  of  the  solidarity  of  the 
m.ind  with  nature  by  means  of  which  we  solved  the  problem 
of  the  mind's  birth,  we  solve  that  of  its  death.  And  in  terms 
of  this  theory,  we  can  also  understand  how  one  mind  can 
destroy  another.   This  cannot  occur  directly  any  more  than 


THE  UNITY  OF  MINDS  289 

interaction  between  them  can  occur  directly.  But  through 
acts  which  are  its  expressions,  acts  which  prolong  themselves 
beyond  the  body  into  the  physical  world  with  which  it  is 
continuous,  a  mind  can  destroy  the  form  of  the  body  of  its 
fellow,  also  continuous  with  nature,  and  so  destroy  his  inner 
life  which  is  a  function  of  that  form.  The  contact  of  one  mind 
with  another  through  the  medium  of  the  common  sense 
world,  and  the  relations  of  harmony  and  of  conflict  between 
the  forces  at  work  there,  enable  us  to  understand  how  this 
is  possible. 

Those  who  refuse  to  accept  the  death  of  the  mind  as  a 
fact,  point  to  the  worlds  of  memory  and  imagination  and 
thought  where  the  soul  seems  to  be  free  of  the  sense  world. 
They  admit  the  dependence  of  the  mind  upon  the  sense 
world  in  perception,  and  also  that  memory  and  imagination 
and  intellect  presuppose  this  world  genetically,  but  they 
believe  that,  once  having  arisen,  the  higher  spheres  of  mental 
life  are  free  from  the  lower.  And  in  these  spheres,  to  be  sure, 
man  does  acquire  a  certain  independence  of  the  changing 
aspects  of  his  environment;  he  gradually  accumulates  and 
creates  a  little  microcosm  all  his  own.  But,  as  we  have 
proved  in  our  chapter  on  the  relation  of  mind  and  body,  this 
seeming  independence  is  an  illusion.  For  memory,  imagina- 
tion and  intellect  cannot  exist  apart  from  their  bodily  organs 
of  expression.  Now  these  latter  are  admittedly  under  the 
control  of  nature  and  finally  destroyed  by  its  will.  And 
hence  there  is  no  part  of  man  which  is  exempt  from  death. 

The  view  of  the  cosmic  solidarity  defended  in  this  chapter 
is  very  different  from  that  knowTi  as  absolute  idealism. 


290  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

According  to  absolute  idealism,  minds  are  not  one  in  so  far 
as  they  are  connected  by  a  common  sense  world  —  our  view 
—  but  in  so  far  as  they  are  parts  of  one  mind  —  the  abso- 
lute.  The  advantage  of  this  latter  view  is  that  it  enables  us 
to  conceive  of  interaction  according  to  the  type  of  the  inter- 
play of  activities  within  a  self;    the  re-enforcements  and 
inhibitions  of  strivings,  the  springing  up  and  the  dying 
away  of  interests.    And  this  advantage  is,  I  think,  great; 
for  this  mode  of  interaction,  being  most  intimate  to  us,  is 
best  understood  by  us.    Yet  the  advantages  of  a  theory  for 
the   solution    of   a   particular   problem    cannot   outweigh 
inherent  contradictions.     Some  of  these  have  been  con- 
vincingly set  forth  by  James.  The  unity  of  the  self  is  incom- 
patible with  the  manifold  differences  and  oppositions  which 
exist  between  empirical  selves.   It  is  impossible  that  a  single 
self  should  at  once  know  and  not  know,  or  at  the  same  time 
seek  and  reject  a  given  thing,  which  the  absolute  self  would 
have  to  do  if  it  contained  within  itself  as  parts  human  selves 
with  their  antipathies  and  their  varieties  of  knowledge  and 
ignorance.    The  world,  of  course,  contains  these  differences, 
but  this  doesTiot  imply  that  they  are  united  under  the  form 
of  a  single  self.  Absolute  idealism  is  valuable  as  a  corrective 
for  extreme  types  of  pluralism;    our  view  is  close  to  it  in 
emphasizing  the  solidarity  of  minds;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
is  opposed  to  it  in  insisting  on  the  real  separateness  of  selves 
and  the  incompatibility  of  their  interests.     The  various 
selves  are  not  next-to-next  directly,  but  only  through  inter- 
vening sense  material;  their  minds  may,  therefore,  overlap, 
but  they  do  not  constitute  one  mind. 


THE  UNITY  OF  MINDS  29 1 

The  theory  of  the  unity  of  minds  which  we  have  been 
developing  has  involved  the  use  of  two  concepts  —  that  of 
interaction  as  response  and  that  of  the  hierarchy  of  causes 
—  which  require  further  elucidation.  The  reader  will  also 
rightly  demand  of  us  that  we  state  the  bearing  of  these  ideas 
upon  the  important  problem  of  freedom. 

The  unit  of  all  causation  is  an  action,  a  process  embodying 
impulse  or  purpose.  But  every  action,  as  we  have  seen,  is  a 
response.  And  we  must  go  further;  for  the  situation  which 
stimulates  the  response  is  itself  stimulated  and  responds; 
the  reaction  broadens  out  into  an  interaction.  A  moving 
body  tends  in  obedience  to  its  impulse  to  move  towards  the 
earth,  and  the  earth  in  its  turn  responds  to  the  body  and 
moves  towards  it.  The  environment  awakens  the  organism 
to  adaptive  movements,  but  answers  by  being  moulded  into 
hut  and  food  and  clothing.  Every  impulse,  in  order  to  find 
fulfillment,  goes  beyond  the  body  in  which  it  is  resident  and 
invokes  the  co-operation  of  other  elements. 

Another  simple  illustration  drawn  from  human  life  will 
make  plain  what  is  meant.  A  wood  carver  seeks  to  carry  out 
his  design  in  the  material  of  his  art.  His  purpose  animating 
his  hand  would  be  ineffective  without  the  co-operation  of 
knife  and  material.  These  must  lend  themselves  to  his  uses, 
and  the  final  product  is  their  co-operative  endeavor.  The 
maker  of  the  design  is  quite  as  much  the  wood  which 
submitted  to  the  handling  as  the  artist  who  planned  and 
wrought. 

Every  new  event  is,  therefore,  due  to  the  action  of  some 
system.    We  can  never  trace  it  back  to  a  single  agent  as 


292  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

cause.  We  attribute  the  new  institution  to  the  reformer,  yet 
we  know  that  without  the  co-operation  of  the  other  members 
of  the  society  it  could  not  have  been.  Still,  in  affirming  that 
the  system  is  the  cause,  we  do  not  imply  that  the  individual 
member  is  not  cause;  for  the  system  is  nothing  besides  the 
elements  in  their  interrelations,  the  wills  in  their  consensus. 
Moreover,  it  is  always  possible  to  attribute  an  event  more 
to  one  member  of  a  conspiracy  than  to  others;  the  responsi- 
bility cannot  be  equally  divided;  it  has  to  be  borne  chiefly 
by  the  stronger  and  more  persuasive  members,  in  whom  the 
purpose  which  brought  about  the  event  originated,  and  by 
whom  it  is  sustained. 

If  all  causation  takes  place  through  a  system,  we  have  to 
inquire  how  large  the  system  is  which  is  the  cause  of  any 
effect.  Now  every  effect  has  its  proximate  origin  in  some 
relatively  isolated  system  of  individuals  in  immediate  con- 
tact with  one  another.  Changes  accrue  to  individuals  be- 
cause of  internal  processes  evoked  through  their  relations 
with  other  individuals;  the  appearance  of  spontaneity  is 
due  to  this,  as  we  have  seen.  In  this  manner  changes  arise 
in  the  various  individuals  all  over  the  cosmos.  But,  since 
all  individuals  are  in  direct  or  remote  contact  with  each 
other,  a  change  in  any  one  part  of  the  world  must  have  some 
effect  in  every  other  part.  The  individual  and  its  environ- 
ment undergo  mutual  modification;  but  the  environment 
has  itself  an  environment;  hence  its  responses  to  that  will 
necessarily  be  modified  by  its  responses  to  this,  and  vice 
versa,  to  the  remotest  corners  of  the  world.  Waves  of  change 
spread  from  each  thing  to  every  other  thing,  and  return 


THE  UNITY  OF  MINDS  293 

again  upon  each;  and  although  such  changes  are  subsequent 
and  transitive,  being  carried  by  intermediates,  neverthe- 
less, since  any  wave  of  change  must  be  met  by  other  waves 
proceeding  from  other  things,  every  concrete  change  in- 
volves the  interference  of  waves  and  is,  therefore,  partly 
determined  by  everything  in  the  universe. 

Moreover,  the  system  into  which  any  causal  agent  enters 
is  not  a  simple  one  where  all  the  elements  are  on  a  level.    So 
far  at  least  as  the  human  mind  is  concerned,  there  are  no  less 
than  two  into  which  it  directly  enters  —  the  body  and  the 
external  world.   The  mind  can  act  only  through  the  consent 
and  co-operation  of  the  body,  and  when  the  body  acts  it  acts 
subject  to  the  laws  —  that  is,  the  control  of  —  the  physical 
environment.    A  twofold  limit  is,  therefore,  set  to  all  human 
behaviour.    The  sense  elements,  through  which  alone  the 
mind  can  express  itself  and  act,  are  also  media  for  the  action 
and  expression  of  the  system  of  the  body,  which,  in  turn,  is 
played  upon  by  the  forces  of  the  physical  world.  The  acts  of 
the  mind,  therefore,  while  single  outwardly,  are  complex  in 
their  inner  significance  and  control.     They  represent  in 
themselves  an  equihbrium  of  many  forces.    Being  multiply 
determined,  every  event  in  human  life  is  richer  in  its  meaning 
than  would  appear. 

Despite  the  entanglement  of  human  purposes  in  cosmic 
intentions,  despite  the  fact  that  we  realize  our  wills  only 
because  nature  finds  it  conducive  to  its  own  ends  that  we  do 
so,  our  human  freedom  is  not  imperiled.  For  by  freedom 
we  mean,  above  all,  that  an  individual's  acts  are  its  own; 
that  of  whatever  it  does  it  is  itself  cause.  Now  this,  we  have 


294  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

seen,  is  true.  For,  although  all  causation  is  interaction  and 
each  event  depends  upon  a  system,  nevertheless,  the  agent 
is  a  necessary  element  in  the  system.  If  a  thing's  acts  were 
wholly  determined  by  its  environment,  then  indeed  it  would 
be  unfree;  but  this  determination  is  only  partial;  for  it 
contributes  its  due  share  to  the  result.  If  the  deed  could  not 
happen  without  the  co-operation  of  the  other  elements  in  the 
system,  it  could  also  not  happen  without  the  aid  of  this  one; 
if  it  needs  them,  they  also  need  it.  Doubtless  the  world  has 
made  me  what  I  am,  but  I  have  made  the  world.  To  the 
world  belongs  the  responsibility  for  what  I  do;  yet  I,  being 
part  of  the  world,  must  accept  my  share  of  the  praise  or 
blame.  To  be  sure,  every  act  which  I  perform  expresses 
nature's  will  as  well  as  my  own;  yet  nature  has  taken 
account  of  my  will  in  expressing  its  own. 

Again,  if  the  past  were  discontinuous  with  the  present 
and,  having  brought  it  into  existence,  still  controlled  it,  then 
indeed  we  should  be  unfree  and  there  would  be  no  self- 
determination.  But,  as  we  know,  the  past  as  such  does  not 
exist,  but  only  so  much  of  it  as  survives  in  the  present.  The 
past,  therefore,  as  past,  can  never  compel  us  to  the  perform- 
ance of  any  act;  for  only  that  which  exists  can  be  a  cause 
and  act;  and  the  supposed  control  of  the  present  by  the 
past  is  simply  part  of  the  present's  own  control  of  itself  — 
the  control  exerted  by  that  part  of  the  past  which  is  identical 
with  the  present.  A  may  cause  B,  and  B,  C;  but  A  cannot 
cause  C  except  in  so  far  as  a  part  of  ^  is  a  part  of  B.  And  B, 
as  we  know,  is  always  unique,  despite  the  share  of  A  which 
it  contains;  whence  again  B  and  not  A  is  the  true  cause  of 


THE  UNITY  OF  MINDS  295 

C.  We  cannot,  therefore,  shift  the  blame  for  our  misdeeds 
upon  our  hereditary  past;  for  our  heredity  exists  and 
operates  only  through  ourselves;  in  blaming  it,  we  blame 
ourselves.  And  again,  when  the  sexual  elements  fuse  and 
make  me;  they  are  no  alien  creators  of  me,  to  whose  poor 
selves  I  can  attribute  all  my  imperfections  —  they  are  the 
elemental  me.  The  past  has  made  me  what  I  am ;  but  I  am 
that  past  that  made  me. 

As  a  conclusion  to  this  chapter,  let  us  examine  and  test  the 
so-called  consciousness  of  freedom  in  the  light  of  the  abstract 
principles  which  we  have  now  worked  out.  Our  conscious- 
ness of  freedom,  is,  in  the  first  place,  a  consciousness  of 
authorship.  We  are  conscious  that  what  we  do  is  our  own; 
that  it  is  we  who  perform  our  acts,  and  not  somebody  or 
something  else.  And  this  means  that  we  are  conscious  that 
each  act  belongs  to  the  whole  of  interwoven  activities  which 
is  the  self;  that  it  grows  out  of  this  rather  than  out  of  some 
other  sphere  of  reality;  and  second,  that  each  act  is  a  sub- 
stantial and  eflfective  fact,  and  not  a  mere  expression  or 
phenomenon  or  byplay  of  something  else.  Both  the  home 
of  the  act  within  the  self  and  the  substantiality  of  the  act  are 
given  in  the  experience  of  the  act.  And,  in  accordance  with 
our  results,  we  know  that  with  reference  to  both,  conscious- 
ness does  not  lead  us  astray. 

The  consciousness  of  authorship  is  just  as  vivid,  I  think, 
when  we  are  acting  habitually,  lawfully,  in  accordance  with 
some  plan  or  tendency  from  which  the  act  can  be  deduced, 
as  when  we  are  acting  spontaneously  and  perversely.  In  the 
latter  case,  moreover,  one  side  of  the  feeling  of  authorship  is 


296  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

far  less  strong  —  the  relation  of  the  act  to  the  self,  its  home. 
For,  being  novel  and  fortuitous,  it  is  not  completely  expli- 
cable from  the  past  and  familiar  self  that  we  know;  hence 
we  feel  that  we  are  borne  along  by  some  power  not  ourselves, 
rather  than  self-determined.  Yet  the  other  aspect  of  the 
consciousness  of  freedom  remains  —  the  substantiality  of 
the  act. 

There  is,  however,  a  certain  amount  of  illusion  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  freedom.  For  we  are  seldom  aware  of  the 
extent  to  which  each  act  of  ours  depends  upon  the  help  of 
foreign  forces,  because  these  forces  are  not  within  the 
mind  and  accessible  to  us,  as  are  our  own.  Yet,  in  more 
reflective  or  less  self-assertive  moods,  the  other  side  of  the 
situation  may  come  to  mind;  and  we  may  clearly  recognize 
that  the  act  belongs  not  merely  to  the  restricted  area  of  the 
self,  but  also  to  the  wider  region  of  the  world.  Nevertheless, 
our  consciousness  of  freedom  never  wholly  misleads. 

There  is  another  aspect  of  the  so-called  consciousness  of 
freedom  upon  which  libertarians  usually  place  more  stress  — 
the  alleged  awareness  of  indetennination,  supposed  to  be 
most  clear  in  the  case  of  choice.  Now  as  a  rule,  I  think,  this 
consciousness  of  indetermination  is  really  less  vivid  in  the 
case  of  choice  than  elsewhere,  even  when  the  alternatives  are 
many.  For,  generally,  choices  are  made  in  accordance  with 
definite  principles,  habits  or  purposes,  and  are  therefore 
necessary  and  predictable  from  them.  Placed  in  a  situa- 
tion demanding  a  choice  of  policy  or  morals,  no  matter  how 
many  be  the  abstract  possibilities  of  action,  we  know  clearly 
how  we  shall  act,  and,  after  we  have  acted,  we  feel  that  we 


THE  UNITY  OF  MINDS  297 

could  not  have  done  otherwise;  no  other  act  could  be  ours, 
could  consist  with  our  nature.  The  consciousness  of  un- 
limited possibilities  is  purely  imaginative.  It  is  an  aesthetic 
and  playful  putting  of  oneself  into  various  abstractly  pos- 
sible situations,  largely  to  the  end  of  enlarging  one's  experi- 
ence imaginatively;  it  does  not  imply  the  earnest  supposi- 
tion that  any  one  of  them  is  really  possible  for  oneself.  The 
process  of  reflection  upon  and  weighing  of  alternatives  is  an 
endeavor  to  discover  which  act  is  logically  demanded  by 
one's  own  nature.  In  both  cases  the  alternatives  present  to 
the  mind  represent  only  abstract  possibilities,  not  real 
possibilities  of  action  for  me. 

A  clearer  sphere  of  consciousness  of  indetermination  is  the 
sudden  development,  under  the  stress  of  novel  circum- 
stances, of  new  interests,  beliefs,  attitudes.  A  luminous 
consciousness  of  choice  is  not,  as  a  rule,  present  here.  One 
finds  oneself  believing,  doing,  valuing,  as  never  before. 
Striking  is  the  break  with  one's  past.  One  cannot  deduce 
this  present  self  from  the  old.  There  is  an  unpleasant  sense 
of  rupture,  of  discontinuity.  One  longs  perhaps  for  the  old 
simplicity  and  single-mindedness ;  one  is  afraid  of  oneself 
and  suspicious  of  the  issue.  Yet  there  is  also  a  sense  of 
exhilaration,  of  freedom.  This  is  negative  freedom,  freedom 
from  the  past  and  its  ties.  We  shall  not  try  to  evaluate  it  in 
comparison  with  the  freedom  of  rational  action.  No  one  can 
deny,  however,  the  interest  and  importance  of  it.  It  per- 
tains to  all  refreshing  and  original  natures.  We  are  especially 
interested  in  the  problem  of  how  far  this  consciousness  of 
indetermination  is  genuine  or  illusory.    We  have  to  admit, 


298  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

of  course,  that  the  elements  of  discontinuity  and  chance  are 
often  not  so  great  as  they  seem.  We  can  usually  show,  not 
merely  that  the  new  acts  and  behefs  grew  out  of  the  past, 
but  how  they  followed  in  terms  of  our  former  and  still 
operative  interests  and  instincts  and  attitudes.  It  is  the 
business  of  every  psychologist  and  scientific  biographer  to 
do  this.  Nevertheless,  a  large  unaccountable  element  will 
remain.  The  biographer  always  finds  it  a  problem  in  study- 
ing the  life  story  of  the  man  or  woman  of  genius,  especially 
of  artistic  genius.  Yet  the  same  thing  is  to  be  found  in  the 
history  of  less-gifted  people.  It  may  be  only  some  subtle 
change  in  temperament  or  mood,  which,  however,  may  per- 
vade the  whole  man.  Now,  as  I  have  maintained  in  Chapter 
Six,  I  see  no  reason  for  supposing  that,  despite  the  failure 
to  deduce  these  changes,  they  must  be  deducible.  They 
are  always  a  development;  of  this  there  can  be  no  doubt; 
but  they  are  not  a  logical  development.  Here  is  chance,  the 
accidental,  the  non-rational.  Of  course,  in  its  turn,  it  shares 
the  fate  of  everything  fortuitous  —  it  becomes  a  new  habit, 
and  so  a  law.  Yet  there  are  some  natures  in  whom  novelties 
are  never  exhausted.  Such  natures  are  always  wonderful 
to  us. 


CHAPTER  XI 

CONCLUSION 

IDEALLY  the  speculative  philosopher  has  no  concern 
with  the  specifically  human  interests.  His  is  an  effort  at 
complete  dispassionateness.  To  survey  all  time  and  all 
existence  without  foreboding  and  without  hope,  is  his  aim. 
Since,  however,  the  philosopher  is  after  all  a  man,  he  cannot 
help  inquiring  into  the  bearing  of  his  theory  of  the  world 
upon  happiness  and  the  aspirations  of  men.  He  may  not 
adjust  his  theory  of  the  cosmos  to  his  own  wishes  and  emo- 
tions ;  yet  he  is  bound  so  to  order  his  inner  life  that,  knowing 
what  he  does  of  the  world,  he  may  live  there  at  peace  with 
himself.  The  instinct  of  self-preservation  is  operative  even 
on  the  spiritual  plane. 

The  time  is  past  for  men  to  ask  of  either  philosophy  or 
religion  a  guarantee  of  the  satisfaction  of  any  of  their 
mundane  personal  interests.  The  protection  of  the  body 
from  disease  and  death,  happy  love,  children,  the  oppor- 
tunity to  direct  and  create,  friendship  and  the  esteem  of 
one's  fellows,  they  have  no  magic  to  assure.  But  touching 
certain  ideal  interests,  men  still  seek  confidence  from,  the 
philosopher.  First,  there  is  the  demand  for  the  perpetuation 
of  the  individual,  immortality;  second,  the  demand  for  the 
perpetuation  and  continued  development  of  human  culture, 
progress  and  the  birth  of  the  superman;    third,  the  meta- 

259 


300  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

physical  ideal  of  cosmic  perfection,  theodicy.  These  de- 
mands, although  they  may  all  be  held  at  the  same  time, 
form  a  series,  each  leading  through  renunciation  to  the  more 
insistent  emphasis  on  the  one  following. 

The  demand  for  immortality  is  an  extension  and  sublima- 
tion of  the  instinct  of  self-preservation.    The  process  of  all 
life  is  the  passage  of  purposes  to  fulfillment.    But  realization 
is  never  complete.  Although  at  brief  moments  of  triumph  it 
sometimes  seems  to  the  human  animal  as  if  he  had  fulfilled 
his  destiny  and  would  be  content  to  sleep,  he  soon  discovers 
a  new  striving,  awakening  in  the  consummation  of  the  old, 
to  disturb  the  peace  of  work  perfected.    Hence,  death  leaves 
beauty  unenjoyed  or  uncreated,   the  service  of  duty  or 
affection  unperformed.   And,  since  for  the  full  realization  of 
human  aims,  the  existence  of  other  men  is  a  necessary  con- 
dition, the  desire  for  immortality  is  as  much  or  more  a  desire 
for  the  survival  of  one's  friends  and  co-workers  as  of  oneself. 
But  death  is  an  evil  for  another  reason  besides  its  hin- 
drance to  the  fulfillment  of  purposes.    Men  seek  not  only  to 
realize  aims,  but  to  keep  the  values  which  accrue  through 
realization.   The  good  of  life  is  not  only  activity  in  the  pur- 
suit of  ends,  but  an  ever  expanding  and  enriched  state  of 
mind,  a  treasure  house  of  memories,  insights  and  aptitudes. 
A  by-product  of  every  action  and  performance  is  the  crea- 
tion of  personality.  We  cannot  keep  our  works  or  days,  but 
the  memory  of  them,  and  the  character  which  we  have  built 
up  through  them,  may  abide,  at  least  for  a  time.  It  is  the  loss 
of  these,  the  finest  result  of  any  man's  endeavors,  which  we  so 
poignantly  deplore  at  his  death.    We  can  dispense  with  his 


CONCLUSION  301 

services,  for  any  other  man,  perhaps,  can  take  his  place;  but 
the  man's  self  is  unique  and  its  destruction  irretrievable. 
Seeing  as  we  soon  do  their  inevitableness,  we  soon  get  used 
to  the  passage  of  youth  and  the  transiency  of  pleasures; 
although  they  too  bring  their  inevitable  sting,  for  we  ask 
that  even  the  flying  moments  stay  their  course;  but  to  the 
loss  of  their  possible  fruits  in  memory  and  personality,  to 
this,  reconciliation  is  a  far  harder  task. 

Indifference  to  death  is  always  an  indication  of  callous- 
ness; we  admire  it  in  the  soldier  or  the  explorer  not  as  an 
end  in  itself,  but  as  a  sign  that  something  better  than  mere 
existence  is  esteemed.  Of  itself ,  it  signalizes  a  want  of  feel- 
ing for  the  individual  and  personal.  Yet  to  lament  annihila- 
tion and  to  recognize  its  inevitableness  are  not  incompatible. 
To  this  end  there  is  needed,  only  in  larger  measure,  the  same 
subjugation  of  regret  which  we  discover  in  the  fine  old  man 
who,  while  remaining  sensitive  to  the  loss  of  his  youth,  still 
preserves  sweetness  and  serenity.  For,  rebel  against  it  as  he 
may,  the  philosopher  must  recognize  that  nature  did  not 
intend  that  the  individual  should  survive.  Viewed  dispas- 
sionately, the  Ufe  of  man  is  no  different,  from  the  aspect  of 
survival,  than  that  of  a  plant  —  it  has  its  growth,  its  flower- 
ing time,  its  inescapable  decay  and  death.  As  we  have 
already  explained,  it  is  just  as  impossible  for  the  soul  of  man 
to  survive  the  disintegration  of  its  organs  of  expression,  as  it 
would  be  for  a  plant  to  live  on  without  roots  and  sunshine. 

But,  as  we  saw  in  our  last  chapter,  the  necessity  that  the 
individual  should  perish  is  not  blind.  It  is  due,  in  the  end,  to 
an  incompatibility  of  the  purposes  of  the  individual  with  the 


302  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

purposes  of  the  environment.  If  a  man  could  continue  to  live 
without  affecting  the  course  of  the  world,  or  if  he  could  live 
without  the  use  of  organs,  then  doubtless  he  might  survive 
indefinitely.  But,  just  as  we  men  are  compelled  to  take  the 
life  of  animals,  and  sometimes,  in  the  case  of  an  individual 
whose  purposes  are  absolutely  irreconcilable  with  our  own, 
to  destroy  one  of  our  own  kind,  so  with  equal  reason  nature 
destroys  us.  Of  course  it  is  impossible  for  us  to  conceive  of 
a  purpose  which  could  be  frustrated  by  the  longer  life  of 
a  Keats  or  a  Shelley,  or  which  would  not  renounce  some- 
thing of  its  own  good  for  the  new  poems  which  would 
have  been  the  fruit  of  such  lives  as  theirs;  yet  we  cannot 
suppose  that  our  own  standards  of  value  are  binding  upon 
nature;  for  all  we  know,  some  superhuman  poet  sang 
sweeter  songs  because  of  their  demise. 

The  death  of  the  individual  represents,  therefore,  a  two- 
fold failure:  first,  completely  to  realize  his  purposes  and 
second,  to  preserve  the  personality  which  he  and  the  world 
have  built  up.  Many  who  recognize  this  console  themselves 
with  the  doctrine  of  the  immortality  of  the  race.  The  desire 
for  personal  immortality  and  the  love  of  children  are  con- 
tradictory, yet  compensating  attitudes.  It  is  clear  that  the 
somatic  forces  of  the  body,  realizing  that  they  cannot  pre- 
serve the  individual,  seek  a  vicarious  perpetuation  in  the 
creation  of  a  new  individual  of  the  same  type.  Hence,  just 
as  the  joy  of  producing  and  maintaining  offspring  often  sup- 
plants ambition,  so  the  doctrine  of  immortality  may  be 
interpreted  in  racial  rather  than  in  personal  terms.  The 
worth  of  the  individual  may  be  thought  of  as  conserved  in 


CONCLUSION  303 

communal  and  over-individual  aims  —  progress  in  science, 
art,  invention,  social  organization.  Even  as  the  soldier  gives 
his  life  freely  that  his  cause  may  win,  so  perhaps  the  individ- 
ual may  willingly  renounce  his  existence  that  the  race  may 
triumph  and  the  superman  be  born. 

The  importance  of  racial  purposes  cannot  be  overesti- 
mated by  the  moral  philosopher.  Since  the  race  is  more 
powerful  and  enduring  than  the  individual,  men  who  meas- 
ure their  worth  by  their  contributions  to  progress  have  a 
more  stable  basis  for  happiness  than  those  who  think  only  of 
self.  Yet  it  is  as  impossible  for  the  philosopher  to  guarantee 
the  immortahty  of  the  race  as  to  give  assurance  of  the  sur- 
vival of  the  individual.  And  the  worth  of  life  should  not  be 
made  to  rest  on  uncriticized  metaphysical  assumptions.  A 
rational  happiness  can  be  founded  only  on  well-based  ideas. 

An  estimate  of  the  doctrine  of  racial  immortality  involves 
an  interpretation  of  the  evolutionary  process  and  a  study  of 
its  relation  to  the  inorganic  world  of  which,  as  we  saw  in  our 
last  chapter,  it  is  an  outgrowth.  And  here,  it  might  seem, 
is  a  region  where,  contrary  to  the  usual,  an  interpretation  of 
nature  in  terms  of  purpose  is  possible.  The  connection  of 
mind  with  the  body  and  the  apparently  teleological  char- 
acter of  the  structure  and  functions  of  the  organism  appear 
to  provide  a  clue. 

The  old  theistic  conception  of  evolution  as  a  unified, 
masterful  and  anthropocentric  process  no  longer  recom- 
mends itself  to  dispassionate  observation.  There  is,  to  be 
sure,  much  harmony  of  aims  manifest  in  the  similarity  of 
structure  and  function  in  individuals  of  widely  different 


304  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

genera  and  in  the  mutual  adjustment  of  species  to  one 
another;  yet  common  origin  and  adaptation  rather  than  a 
common  aim  suffice  to  explain  them.  And,  on  the  other 
hand,  the  omnipresent  fact  of  conflict  —  the  soul  with  its 
high  ambitions  at  odds  with  its  unyielding  body,  bodies  of 
the  same  species  at  battle  with  one  another,  the  different 
species  engaged  in  a  death  struggle,  and  all  striving  against 
the  forces  of  the  inorganic  world  —  this  fact,  coupled  with 
the  divergence  of  the  many  contemporaneous  lines  of  de- 
velopment, tells  finally  against  the  hypothesis  of  singleness 
of  aim.  One  cannot  claim  that  the  bird  ever  did,  or  ever  will, 
strive  to  be  a  man  or  that  he  exists  to  serve  man.  The  group 
of  facts  which  Haeckel  has  called  dysteleological,  such  facts 
as  the  harmful  persistence  of  organs  in  the  body  after  their 
uses  have  been  outgrown,  monstrosities,  abortions,  insanity 
and  disease,  prove  that  the  purposes  expressed  in  the  vital 
rhythm  are  not  omnipotent.  They  show  beyond  a  doubt 
that  at  every  step  this  process  has  had  to  adjust  itself, 
accommodate,  compromise,  retract. 

The  conception  of  Bergson  that  life  has  won  its  way  to  the 
creation  and  dominion  of  man  only  after  much  faltering  and 
uncleamess  of  aims,  after  many  false  steps  and  against  the 
opposition  of  matter,  is  far  more  in  harmony  with  the  facts 
than  the  older  theism.  It  gives  wiser  recognition  to  the  great 
outstanding  truth  that  life  is  only  a  fragment  of  a  larger 
process,  the  process  of  the  inorganic  world,  to  which  life  has 
had  continually  to  adjust  itself,  and  on  the  sufferance  of 
which  it  alone  exists.  Yet  Bergson  does  not  go  far  enough  in 
this  recognition.    There  is  no  evidence  that  man  has  so 


CONCLUSION  305 

ingratiated  himself  into  favor  with  the  will  of  nature,  that 
he  has  so  moulded  his  purposes  into  harmony  with  its  pur- 
poses, that  the  perpetuity  of  his  own  is  assured.  Of  course, 
the  very  existence  of  hfe  and  man's  actual  attainment  are 
evidences  that  nature  has  at  least  consented  to  their  pres- 
ence in  the  world.  Nature  has  not  looked  with  indifference 
upon  the  fate  of  its  offspring.  Nevertheless,  just  as  a  gale  at 
sea  may  overturn  a  boat  and  all  on  board  may  perish,  so 
humanity  may  suffer  shipwreck  at  the  hands  of  cosmic 
forces. 

The  doctrine  of  the  conservation  of  values,  failing  to  find 
assurance  for  the  individual  and  the  race,  has  a  final  refuge 
in  the  hj'pothesis  of  a  cosmical  immortahty.  Even  if,  in  the 
end,  all  human  beings  are  destroyed  and  leave  no  offspring, 
it  may  still  be  true  that  their  death  is  necessary  to  the  de- 
velopment of  the  beings  who  destroy  them,  in  whose  in- 
creased perfection  they  may  win  perpetuation.  Such  a  view 
would  be  only  carrying  to  the  ultimate  limit  the  idealization 
of  purpose  which  any  father  exemplifies  when  he  thinks  of 
the  happiness  of  his  children  as  the  justification  of  his  efforts, 
even  of  his  failures,  and  willingly  gives  his  life  for  them. 
Provided  only  that  the  cosmical  purposes  were  in  some 
fashion  continuous  with  humanity's,  including  the  latter  in 
its  own,  a  man  could  feel  that  the  values  of  all  his  activities 
were  eternahzed  there.  If,  moreover,  he  could  think  that  no 
effort  of  his  was  lost,  that  even  his  sin  and  suffering  and 
failure  were  means  to  the  perfection  of  the  universe,  he 
would  have  a  source  of  consolation  and  a  motive  for  living 
triumphant  over  all  despair.     The  task  of  rehgion  —  to 


3o6  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

provide  new  and  indefeasible  motives  for  living  —  would  be 
accomplished. 

In  face  of  such  a  conception  of  the  meaning  of  human  life, 
it  is  impossible  for  the  philosopher  to  be  speechless.  He 
cannot  accept  it  merely  because  of  its  sublimity  and  moving 
power,  yet  he  can  reject  it  only  because  of  some  positive 
view  of  the  nature  of  reality  with  which  it  is  in  conflict. 
Obviously,  the  truth  of  every  theodicy  depends  upon  its 
abihty  successfully  to  take  account  of  evil.  It  behooves  us, 
therefore,  both  because  of  the  independent  interest  which 
this  fact  must  possess  for  the  speculative  philosopher,  and 
because  of  its  bearing  on  a  great  religious  ideal,  to  inquire 
how  we  must  think  of  it  in  terms  of  our  own  philosophy. 

If  every  interest  could  be  fulfilled,  there  would  be  only 
good  and  no  evil  in  the  world;  for  all  evil  clearly  depends 
upon  the  obstruction  or  failure  of  a  purpose.  To  ask  for  the 
cause  of  evil  is,  therefore,  identical  with  inquiring  into  the 
grounds  for  failure.  Now  failure,  I  think,  has  no  other  source 
than  the  community  and  mutual  dependence  of  our  aims. 
If  we  were  independent  beings,  each  pursuing  his  own  life 
without  effect  upon  the  lives  of  others,  in  atomistic  or 
monadistic  fashion,  then  there  would  be  no  evil  —  and  also 
less  of  the  good  —  in  the  world.  But  because  for  the  realiza- 
tion of  our  purposes  we  need  the  co-operation  of  other  wills, 
upon  which  we  cannot  count,  and  because,  owing  to  the 
solidarity  of  our  lives,  we  seek  ends  which  are  incompatible, 
the  success  and  happiness  of  all  is  impossible.  The  clearest 
cases  of  this  are  to  be  found  in  our  social  life.  When  two 
men  run  a  race,  or  compete  for  the  love  of  a  woman,  or  for 


CONCLUSION  307 

some  prize  or  place,  the  happiness  of  one  implies  necessarily 
the  unhappiness  of  the  other.  Or  if,  seeking  to  rise  to  higher 
and  more  intense  ways  of  living,  where  one  cannot  live  alone, 
—  seeking  more  subtle  and  various  values  in  art  or  social 
life  —  men  strive  to  elevate  their  fellows  who  refuse,  then, 
too,  it  is  obvious  that  they  must  suffer.  These  examples  of 
evils  which  grow  out  of  our  human  solidarity  and  mutual 
dependence  are  typical,  I  believe,  of  all  evil  in  the  cosmos. 
For  to  us  the  cosmos  is  itself  a  larger  society,  and  our  rela- 
tions with  nature  are  of  the  same  sort  with  our  relations  to 
our  fellow  men,  only  closer  and  more  intimate.  The  failure 
of  any  purpose  in  the  world  is  due,  in  the  last  resort,  to  its 
inability  to  win  the  co-operation  of  other  individuals  or  to  its 
incompatibility  with  their  purposes. 

There  are,  to  be  sure,  certain  evils  like  death  and  physical 
suffering  which  seem  not  to  be  explicable  in  this  way.  Yet 
we  have  already  tried  to  bring  the  former  within  our  theory. 
We  have  shown  that  we  die  because  for  us  to  live  longer 
would  interfere  with  the  purposes  expressed  in  the  physical 
world.  Our  will  to  live  is  in  competition  with  the  will  of  the 
environment  for  self-expression  through  the  sense  elements 
which  make  up  our  bodies.  As  for  physical  suffering, 
Schopenhauer  has  given  us,  I  think,  the  true  explanation. 
Pain  is  an  echo  in  the  mind  of  the  suffering  of  the  somatic 
forces  which  have  failed,  for  the  time  being,  to  maintain 
themselves  in  competition  with  the  environment.  We  must 
remember  that  our  sensations  are  a  part  of  the  mind  ex- 
pressed in  the  soma.  We  suffer  when  it  becomes  deranged 
because  the  realization  of  our  wills  depends  upon  its  success. 


308  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

Such  suffering  is  comparable  to  the  sympathetic  pains  which 
we  feel  when  we  see  another  man  in  distress  upon  whose 
happiness  our  own  depends.  Once  more,  we  suffer  because 
we  do  not  live  unto  ourselves  alone,  because  of  the  inter- 
wovenness  of  our  wills.  Through  sympathy  every  failure  is 
multiplied;  hence,  here  we  find  another  great  source  of  evil 
in  the  world,  sprung  from  the  same  root  of  soHdarity. 

There  is,  finally,  another  type  of  evil  which  can  be  traced 
to  the  same  fact  —  I  mean  sin.  Sin  is  another  instance  of 
failure  due  to  the  competition  of  purposes  —  a  broader  and 
sympathetic  purpose,  looking  to  the  future  and  total  in- 
terests of  the  individual,  and  including  his  relations  to 
other  individuals,  vying  with  some  narrower  purpose, 
rooted  usually  in  the  animal  self.  The  animal  impulses 
are  not  in  themselves  sinful;  in  harmony  with  the  more 
inclusive  and  subtle  purposes,  they  are  an  indispensable 
element  in  the  worth  of  life,  feeding  all  the  rest;  and  iso- 
lated, as  in  the  animal  or  the  savage,  they  may  be  low, 
but  they  are  not  evil.  It  is  only  when  they  are  in  conflict 
with  other  purposes  that  there  is  sin.  The  poignant  peculi- 
arity of  sin  resides  in  this  complexity  and  internality:  the 
conflict  is  within,  and  the  failure  is  due,  not  to  the  interfer- 
ence of  an  external  purpose,  but  to  an  element  of  our  own 
nature.  We  are  unhappy  because,  despite  the  triumph  of  the 
lower  self  —  which,  in  itself,  would  be  a  good,  yielding  in 
pleasure  its  reward  —  we  still  maintain  our  thwarted  end 
and  feel  sympathetically  the  sorrow  and  disapproval  of  our 
fellows  who  take  its  side.  Obviously,  were  it  not  for  the 
intimate   communion  between   parts  of   our  owti  nature 


CONCLUSION  309 

and  between  individuals,  there  would  be  no  sin  and  no 
remorse. 

An  empirical  metaphysic  would  be  content  to  do  what  we 
think  we  have  accomplished,  to  trace  the  root  of  evil  in  the 
conflict  and  solidarity  of  purposes.  But  theodicy  goes  be- 
yond anc  demands  not  only  a  ground,  but  a  good.  It  is  un- 
willing to  accept  evil  as  something  inherent  in  the  nature  of 
reality  and  therefore  not  further  explicable,  but  demands  an 
explanation  in  terms  of  purpose.  An  attempt  is  made  to 
prove  that  every  type  of  evil  not  only  may  be,  but  actually  is, 
a  source  of  good.  And  that  certain  goods  are  conditioned  by 
failure,  there  can  be  no  doubt.  First,  there  are  the  values  of 
triumph  and  competition  —  the  joys  of  striving  against  and 
proving  oneself  superior,  distinction  and  cruelty,  pride  and 
scorn  and  the  rest.  Men  little  realize  how  large  a  share  of 
their  dehghts  they  owe  to  the  existence  of  their  enemies  and 
inferiors.  These  values,  of  course,  are  not  commonly  em- 
phasized by  morahsts  and  apologists  of  the  universe,  yet, 
they  are  none  the  less  a  real  compensation  for  evil,  however 
distasteful  to  sensitive  and  high-minded  natures.  But 
second,  failure  makes  possible  a  large  share  of  the  moral  and 
aesthetic  values  —  endurance,  helpfulness  and  self-sacrifice, 
comedy  and  tragedy.  Without  suffering  there  could  have 
been  no  Prometheus;  without  sin,  no  Christ;  without  either, 
no  Aristophanes  or  Swift,  no  Shakespeare  or  Goethe.  So 
much  at  least  seems  certain  —  there  is  no  evil  which  does 
not  offer  an  opportunity  for  some  good. 

The  Theist,  as  we  have  remarked,  again  goes  further, 
asserting  that  this  potential  opportunity  is  always  realized; 


3IO  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

which,  so  far  as  the  world  of  human  life  is  concerned,  is  cer- 
tainly not  true.  It  is  not  true  that  every  individual  wins 
strength  or  spiritual  grace  from  sorrow  and  failure;  quite  as 
often  he  is  only  crippled  and  embittered.  Insanity  and 
suicide  are  clear  proofs  that  there  are  evils  too  hard  for  some 
to  bear  and  profit  by.  And,  even  when  the  sphere  of  atone- 
ment is  enlarged  beyond  the  individual  to  include  his  fellow 
men,  we  have  to  admit  that  there  are  many  evils  which  are 
not  justified  by  the  kindness,  the  remedial  or  scientific  or 
aesthetic  activities  called  forth  because  of  them,  in  other 
men.  They  cannot  help  us  in  our  unrecorded  despairs,  or 
create  beauty  out  of  the  pains  of  the  neurasthenic  or  the 
agonies  of  drowning  men. 

Yet  if  we  take  in  the  larger  environment  of  man,  if  we 
include  nature  which  surrounds  and  supports  us,  may  not 
even  such  evils  as  these  be  atoned  for  ?  There  may  be  super- 
human beings  who  triumph  when  we  fail,  who  win  something 
by  our  death,  and  from  whose  sight  the  agonies  of  drowning 
men  are  not  hidden.  We  do  not  know  what  supreme  tragic 
or  comic  poet  there  may  not  be  watching  our  mortal  suf- 
ferings and  making  of  them  verses  with  pity  and  fear.  This 
is  the  hypothesis  of  Royce.  In  the  life  of  the  Absolute,  of 
which  we  are  parts,  all  evils  are  atoned  for.  He  wins  through 
our  very  losses,  just  as  we  win  where  we  ourselves  lose, 
whenever  we  resist  temptation  or  weakness,  or  make  some- 
thing of  worth  for  knowledge  or  art  or  character  out  of  our 
sins  or  failures. 

In  our  own  interpretation  of  nature,  we  have  surely  en- 
larged the  scope  of  the  significance  of  human  action,  pro- 


CONCLUSION  3  1 1 

viding  room  for  all  sorts  of  values  to  be  realized  in  nature 
through  our  sufferings  and  failures.  Yet  even  if  there  were 
no  evil  in  the  life  of  any  individual  which  was  not  atoned  for 
in  that  of  another,  we  could  not  be  content.  For,  although 
we  would  not  minimize  the  worth  of  such  atonement  even 
for  the  vanquished,  realizing  that  we  are  able,  through 
sympathy,  to  put  ourselves  in  the  place  of  the  victor  or 
spectator,  even  in  defeat;  nevertheless  it  is  impossible 
wholly  to  get  rid  of  the  consciousness  of  the  relativity  of 
good  and  evil.  Our  values  are  too  personal  and  our  sympa- 
thies too  democractic  for  us  to  view  with  complacence  the 
sacrifice  of  one  individual  to  another,  especially  without  the 
knowledge  and  consent  of  the  victim.  We  do  not  bear 
the  same  relation  to  one  another  that  we  bear  to  ourselves, 
or  to  nature  as  to  our  children  or  the  state,  with  whose  aims 
we  have  sympathy  and  understanding.  However  lofty  be 
nature's  aims  —  and  we  do  not  doubt  that  they  are  higher 
than  our  own;  still,  they  are  not  ours.  To  consent  to  one's 
ovm  defeat,  in  ignorance  of  the  cause  which  triumphs,  in- 
volves a  self-abnegation  more  pusillanimous  than  noble.  We 
are  more  high-minded  if,  remaining  loyal  to  our  purposes,  we 
keep  our  protest,  asking  of  nature  that  she  adjust  her  aims 
to  ours,  or,  if  this  is  impossible,  that  she  at  least  include 
ours  in  her  own.  Failing  this,  even  if  we  no  longer  strive, 
we  cannot  greet  the  world  as  good. 

Royce,  of  course,  with  his  view  that  nature  is  not  a  separ- 
ate individual  or  individuals,  but  a  self  which  includes  us 
as  parts,  might  seem  to  provide  a  way  out  of  the  difficulties 
which  we  have  been  stressing.  For,  if  his  view  were  true,  we 


312  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

ourselves  who  fail  would  also  triumph  in  the  successes  of  the 
absolute.  The  will  of  the  absolute  that  we  die  would  be  our 
own  will,  just  as  it  is  our  own  will  which  expresses  itself  both 
in  an  impulse  which  is  suppressed  and  in  the  ideal  which 
triumphs.  But  in  our  chapter  on  the  unity  of  minds  we  have 
shown  the  imreasonableness  of  the  premiss  on  which  this 
doctrine  rests,  namely  that  various  minds  can  unite  to- 
gether in  a  more  inclusive  mind.  And,  empirically,  there  is 
no  such  tie  as  this  between  our  minds  and  those  of  our  fel- 
lows, or  between  our  minds  and  those  of  nature.  We  are  at 
once  the  sorrow  and  the  endurance  of  sorrow,  the  regret  and 
the  bearing  of  regret,  but  we  do  not  feel  another's  suffering 
as  we  do  our  own,  nor  do  we  feel  the  absolute's  masterful 
joys. 

We  conclude,  therefore,  that  any  attempt  to  find  a  reason 
for  evil,  in  the  sense  of  an  inclusive  good  which  should  absorb 
and  atone  for  it  all,  is  doomed  to  failure.  We  can  find  the 
root  of  evil,  but  not  the  justification  of  it.  We  cannot  elimi- 
nate the  individuality  of  purposes  or  their  incompatibility, 
which  even  sympathy  cannot  entirely  overcome.  The  good, 
like  the  evil,  is  always  from  a  point  of  view  which  is  finite. 
We  cannot  call  the  whole  world  good,  because  there  is  no 
all-embracing  will  or  purpose.  And  even  were  we  able  to 
renounce  our  own  personal  wills,  and  take  a  disinterested 
survey  of  the  universe,  we  could  not  be  content  that  some 
should  suffer,  in  order  that  others  might  triumph.  Our  sense 
of  justice  requires  that  we  distribute  our  sympathy;  we 
cannot  confine  it  to  the  few,  no  matter  how  exalted.  Our 
democratic  ideal  of  the  good  is  incompatible  with  theodicy. 


CONCLUSION  313 

After  registering  our  belief  that  philosophy  cannot  prove 
the  ideas  of  immortality  or  theodicy,  it  is  incumbent  upon  us 
to  ask,  first,  what,  in  view  of  this,  we  shall  think  of  the 
cosmos,  and  second,  what  we  shall  think  of  ourselves.  It 
must  be  admitted  that  for  him  who  has  renounced  these 
beliefs,  a  new  world  dawns. 

First,  negatively,  we  cannot  look  upon  the  cosmos  as  cruel 
for  not  realizing  these  our  wishes :  the  fate  that  destroys  us 
is  no  wanton  spirit  reveling  in  our  death.  Whatever  happens 
to  us  occurs,  not  for  its  own  sake,  but  because  otherwise 
some  being  not  ourselves  could  not  realize  its  destiny.  Our 
death  is  necessary  to  the  perfection  of  those  forces  which, 
destroying  the  form  of  the  body,  need  its  material  for  their 
own  uses.  We  cannot  blame  them  for  seeking  their  own 
perfection  or  expect  that  they  should  renounce  their  own 
wills  for  ours.  Surely  we  have  no  right  to  live  superior  to 
that  of  all  other  creatures.  We  may  project  an  ideal  of 
mutual  accommodation  whereby  all  may  achieve  success; 
but  we  do  not  know  that  any  method  could  be  devised  to 
this  end;  and,  short  of  this,  it  is  surely  better  that  in  a  free 
competition  of  purposes  some  should  be  realized  rather  than 
none.  It  would  not  be  "  good  cosmic  manners  "  to  curse  our 
competitors  and  be  unwilling  gracefully  to  fail  and  die. 

Again,  in  our  view  there  is  none  of  the  sting  of  those 
theories  which  regard  man  as  the  sport  of  blind  and  inferior 
forces,  which  suppose  that  there  is  no  reason  for  our  failure 
and  death.  For,  according  to  our  animistic  conception  of 
nature,  there  are  no  such  forces  as  these.  The  beings  which 
feed  upon  our  death  are  doubtless  far  higher  than  we  are: 


314  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

hence  we  cannot  think  it  wholly  unjust  that  they  should  exert 
control  over  our  destiny.  And  with  our  view  of  individual 
responsibility,  we  cannot  complain  that  they  have  fed  us  on 
illusions  of  immortality  only  to  destroy  us;  for  the  behef  in 
survival,  as  we  have  seen,  is  only  a  natural,  though  illusory, 
development  of  our  own  instinct  of  self-preservation. 
Finally,  we  cannot  doubt  that  nature  has  had  regard  for  us. 
The  actual  existence  of  man  on  the  earth,  and  the  high  de- 
velopment which  he  has  attained  there,  are  evidences  that 
our  parent  nature  which  produced  us  has  been  kind  to  us, 
its  offspring.  Nature,  we  reiterate,  has  co-operated  with  us 
in  our  endeavors,  adjusting  its  will  to  ours,  so  far  as  it 
could.  We  are  indeed  made  to  suffer  and  die,  but  our  death 
and  suffering  are  doubtless  necessary.  And,  on  the  other 
hand,  we  are  permitted  to  obtain  a  real,  if  mortal,  happiness. 
I  do  not  advocate  any  mood  of  quietism  or  resignation  in 
our  attitude  towards  nature;  but  only  that  some  courtesy 
and  self-limitation  which  we  exercise  towards  those  who 
have  proved  themselves  superior  in  the  attainment  of  any- 
thing which  we  ourselves  have  been  seeking.  We  do  not 
wish  to  arrogate  everything  to  ourselves,  nor  do  we  feel  hate 
or  envy  towards  those  who  have  succeeded  where  we  have 
failed.  Just  as  we  are  willing  to  forego  something  that  other 
members  of  society  may  profit,  so  in  our  relations  with  the 
larger  society  which  is  the  cosmos,  we  cannot  complain 
because  we  are  not  given  full  scope  to  our  desires.  Yet, 
just  as  in  society  we  deem  it  our  right  to  live  our  own  lives, 
so  in  the  cosmos.  We  are  willing  to  co-operate  with  all  forces 
with  which  co-operation  is  possible;  and  even  to  limit  our 


CONCLUSION  315 

happiness  where  that  is  necessary;  but  not  passively  to 
resign  ourselves  to  a  fate  which  we  do  not  understand.  We 
rightfully  seek  to  control  our  own  destiny,  knowing  that  the 
control  which  we  actually  exert  will  be  only  so  much  as  other 
beings,  greater  than  we,  find  it  compatible  with  their  own 
ends  to  permit. 

After  having  lived  some  time  away  from  the  theistic 
position,  one  does  not  look  back  with  regret  upon  it;  or 
only  with  such  regret,  perhaps,  as  one  remembers  the  child- 
hood that  is  outgrown.  After  measuring  one's  strength, 
without  fear  or  favor,  in  the  great  world  of  conflicting  aims 
seeking  adjustment,  the  conception  of  man  as  the  world's 
darling  cared  for  by  a  benignant  heavenly  father,  while 
appealing  to  old  memories  in  moments  of  weakness,  is  too 
imreal  and  too  little  challenging  to  courage  and  adventure, 
to  keep  hold  of  the  twentieth  century  man.  One  jfinally 
ceases  to  wish  to  live  in  that  protected  world.  Reviewing  the 
past  century,  as  we  who  are  far  enough  from  it  can  do,  we  can 
understand,  though  we  cannot  share,  its  pessimism,  as  the 
result  of  a  disillusion  coming  to  sensitive  spirits  incapable  of 
making  a  heroic  adjustment  to  a  new  view  of  life.  Our 
children,  who  will  not  have  had  the  illusion,  will  be  free  also 
from  the  disappointment.  And  they  will  not  be  required  to 
win  that  victory  over  self  which  has  been  our  portion. 

Here  our  task  as  metaphysicians  is  ended.  We  have  tried 
to  exhibit  the  nature  of  the  world  in  which  we  live ;  we  have 
shown  the  bearing  of  our  doctrine  upon  certain  old  cherished 
conceptions;  we  have  explained  the  attitude  towards  the 
world  which  commends  itself  to  us  in  view  of  our  theory. 


3l6  THE  SELF  AND  NATURE 

There  is  one  thing  more  which  we  might  do.  We  might  show 
how  life  can  be  justified  despite  mortahty  and  the  failure  of 
theodicy.  All  the  fundamental  values  of  human  existence 
remain  intact.  He  surely  has  small  hold  upon  the  good  who, 
despite  sorrow  and  disappointment,  does  not  find  life  worth 
while,  just  in  thinking  and  loving,  in  laughing  and  creating, 
be  it  only  for  a  brief  period,  followed  by  a  sleep  where  no 
evil  memories  mock.  But  to  enforce  this  conviction  belongs 
to  the  moralist,  not  to  the  speculative  philosopher. 


PEtlNTED  AT 

THE  HARVARD  UNIVERSITY  PRESS 

CAMBRIDGE,  MASS.,  U.  S.  A. 


en,  ,THfRN  REGIONAL  UB«f^^^^^^^ 


J(r 000  283  710  2 


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Parl^er  -  Self  and  nature 

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